The Truth Behind the Rules
by icey cold
Summary: Royale had just recovered from Barbossa’s terror when a ship under fire sailed into their harbor. The bad guys got away but the injured woman on the sinking ship had more of a tale to tell. This is a Norrington OFC story. NEW: Chp. 13
1. The Sea

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The Truth Behind the Rules

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I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, its all copy righted to Walt Disney and Co. As much as I'd like to claim I do, I also do not own Norrington, Gillette and every other character you may have encountered in the movie. However, the crew of the Artemis and the Roses are all figments of my over active imagination. :D 

If you'd like to use any of the original characters, make sure you clear it with me first. I can be quite picky about that. What can I say, I'm an author. 

Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, enjoy!

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Chapter 1: The Sea

The _Artemis_ had been sailing the easterly winds for the better part of a day and night. Her crew had ever vigilantly monitored her position on the sea chart, shepherding her through the more dangerous shoals and coves that lined the coastline of Jamaica. She was headed for Port Royale, a new stop on the extensive lists of ports that the _Artemis_ had acquired during her time at sea. On a typical run for supplies while on the open ocean, she might have made berth at Falmouth but the goods she needed were not there, or so the quartermaster had told them. All shipments in the area had been diverted to Port Royale, and the _Artemis_ had set sail there with all haste. 

As the sun was bright and the sky blue, ship wide attitude was pleasant. On a mixed crew of freed blacks, former military seamen and pirates, it was hard to keep up a constant morale. The _Artemis_'s captain, Andraste Rose, was a shrewd woman with a penetrating, tactical mind and an excellent sense of navigation. She was the third generation of a sea fairer in her family, both her paternal relatives serving in the navy for a number of years. Her love of the ocean was even more fortified by her upbringing in a small village upon the sea in South Wales. The high seas were in her blood and she had been nurtured from her first days to either be a part of them, or understand a man who was. 

Bending over the rail of the quarterdeck, she requested the presence of her first mate, a man known to all as Mr. Durson. The Captain had her suspicions about the area, though only fifteen nautical miles from Fort Clarence the lack of sails passing by unnerved her. The current route was not often traveled, but she should have been able to see telltale signs of an active area. If it was one thing she remembered from her reading on Port Royale, pirates in any and all sense were not suffered. She, however slanted her record might be, was no pirate! Given a letter of marque by the British Admiralty, she dutifully attacked Spanish, Dutch and French ships, protecting British colonies while making a nice profit in the process. 

The rose crossed by two swords black standard was something that no respectable Spanish captain wanted to tangle with. Indeed, the same could be said about other pirates and merchant vessels. The _Artemis_ was but one ship in a fleet of three that belonged to the Rose family. The oldest ship was the _White Rose_, the decommissioned flagship of the Roses. This belonged to Andraste's grandfather, Charles. The next ship was the _Agamemnon_, and that belonged to Robert Rose, Andraste's father. Both the _White Rose_ and the _Agamemnon_ made port at Falmouth, where the Roses had a coffee plantation. Because Charles Rose was too old to go to sea (and do much else really), Robert stayed behind to watch over his aging father and so both warships collected barnacles in the harbor. 

"Ye sent for me, cap'n?" came the gravelly voice of the first mate. The graying man presented himself, his hands behind his back and feet together; his rough checkered shirt unbuttoned at his thick chest and his boots scuffed from heel to toe. Durson had never been one to better his appearance. He had sailed as a gunner on a ship of the line and been a pirate to boot. He had served the Roses for a long time and it had not escaped him how similar they were in mind: refined and seeking freedom. They were very well versed in speech craft and were hard to imagine as career seamen. This one in particular, probably because this captain was a woman, was a little more peculiar about the running of the ship and how the crew seemed to others. 

Durson felt it his duty then, to mercilessly torture his captain (in private, of course) about these things. His jokes had been met with a laugh and a wave of his captain's constantly gloved hands. She took them rather well. 

The Captain eyed her first mate's casual attire, knowing that her first mate did it on person to try and get under skin. "I did…yes." Today was not the day for idle games. She turned her back on him to stalk her way starboard, back straight and head held high. "May I ask your opinion on something?"

"Aye, ma'am."

"Does it not seem questionable to you that we are the only vessel on these waters?" Andraste's Welsh lilt bobbed much like the sea, something it did when she was agitated. 

Mr. Durson shook his head, "No, ma'am." 

Removing her looking glass from her belt, Andraste scanned the area quickly before turning back to her first mate. "Well I do. Call me skittish if you must, but we are not too far from an operating military area. Why do the fort's frigates not patrol here? Certainly this is a haven for the less than savory characters. These coves, the rocks, it could be a potential trap for any unwary ship." 

Durson had considered this, in fact he had been anxious himself, but there was no potential threat to the _Artemis_ out here. Her thirty-four cannons and ingenious crew were a match for any buccaneer who thought to get his name imprinted in pirate legend by destroying the ship. The _Artemis_ hadn't been around for very long; it was severely junior to its parent vessels, but it was nonetheless well known. During its infant year, Robert Rose had commanded her. Eventually he had handed it over to his daughter so that she might claim it has her own and draw her own legends in the sand of the Caribbean. 

"I do not like this situation, Mr. Durson," Andraste sighed, "I do not like it at all." She started forward but was immediately halted by a call. 

"SAILS, CAPTAIN! WE'RE BEING PURSUED!" came the cry from the crow's nest. 

Captain Rose spun midstride and again opened her spyglass. Sure enough, there were sails; how she had missed them was anybody's guess. "Blast. They must have been in hiding at Cutlass Point. I can't believe we didn't see them!"

"Should'n we cut and run, cap'n?" Durson asked. The shipment that had been diverted was oddly enough cannonballs and gunpowder. No ship should be without them, but in all his years at sea; he couldn't understand why it was that the _Artemis_ ran out of these necessities so quickly.

Andraste raised an eyebrow and curled her upper lip in disdain at the thought, "that's a bit desperate, Mr. Durson. Surely we're not that bad off. They're on our wind, true, but we're further ahead," clamping the spy glass closed, Andraste gave the order to take in sail and allowed the coxswainto alter course by a few degrees to make the most of the wind. 

Slowly but steadily, the fifth rate ship began to push herself quicker, riding the waves to give a few extra meters, yards, what ever would allow her to put some more distance between her and the unknown ships. Unfortunately, with every nautical mile she gained, the mysterious ship seemed to close in a little quicker. How it was managing to cross the distance was beyond reckoning and the helmsman used every nautical advantage he knew to try and speed his own ship. Though it was probable that this ship wasn't a foe, no merchant vessel would speed up to catch a ship flying a flag that looked like a pirate's. 

There was a touch of unease about the Captain's stance as she stood rigidly upon deck, awaiting news that it was not one ship that tailed her, but two. Earlier, the crewman in the crow's nest had reported that he had seen an unusual number of sails on the new ship and had suspected a second to be tailing it. These suspicions were only confirmed when the _Artemis_ was a quarter of a mile away from Fort Clarence. He had seen the second ship move away from the first, and had caught sight of a flag flying freely from both. It was a black flag adorned with a grinning skull and dagger. It was the pennant of Geoffroi le Noir, better known to the Roses as Geoffroi the Butcher.


	2. Devising an Escape

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Chapter 2: Devising an Escape

"Bygone and to hell!" Durson shouted when he heard news of the standards. "'E's been waitin' for ye, cap'n!"

Andraste was more focused on the newer ships coming at her from starboard side. She was slowly beginning to see where the pieces of the puzzle fit into place. "Mr. Durson, he's pushed us here."

Durson shook his head in confusion. He knew that there was a great deal of animosity between Geoffroi and Andraste; Geoffroi had wanted Andraste to wife and Andraste had rebuffed him. Because Geoffroi considered himself God's gift to women he was not used to such rejection that the lady Rose had given him. Since then, he had sought to make her time at sea difficult. When he was able to catch up with the _Artemis_ and her crew, he attacked them or he simply trailed the ship from port to port. His harassment didn't stop there as once he found her location he often tipped off enemy ships to her whereabouts. Geoffroi wanted revenge for a small damage to his pride, and Durson knew from experience that he often blew things out of proportion. The man was completely out of his mind; he was violent with a passion and obsessed over things to the extreme.

He had obsessed over Durson's captain. No woman could be worthy enough to captain her own ship and if she was then she had be tamed and beaten down. Few pirates would disagree with him. He became enamoured with the idea of finding the prim Welsh woman and when he finally did something had struck a chord within him. He had to _possess _her; there could be no other way to describe it. He came across her in the middle of the open ocean and had professed his intentions and 'undying love' for her from the crow's nest. Durson had wanted to climb up after him and wipe his face with his fist. Some of the things the man had suggested were even too lewd for him!

Andraste, on the other hand, had been quite amused. She had told him, none too gently, what she thought of his acts and that he should address her with more respect. After all, she wasn't some common whore from Tortuga; she had a good family name even if its reputation fell to speculation. This was maddening to le Noir; no woman had ever spoken to him like that. It was intoxicating. So he followed her as she sailed to Tortuga to find a replacement gunner. He had tracked her to a small inn and pursued her once again there. He had stood on top of the bar and again confessed the desires of his loins and heart to her. The Rose had been pushed too far, once was charming but twice and in the same fashion was degrading. She had beckoned him down and told him firmly that she wanted no part of his loins or his heart. 

Geoffroi had tried to kiss her. 

Andraste kicked him in his buried treasure. 

How they had all laughed in the tavern! The legendary seducer of women had failed with his charms! Oh they wailed and they howled with mirth at Tortuga's biggest playboy's failure. Geoffroi had lost his pride that evening and had spent every day since then trying to regain it. Only once more did he ever get his hands on Durson's captain, and Durson vowed to never let it happen again.

Taking her first mate's far away look as one of confusion, Andraste sighed. Was she the only one who thought ahead on the bloody ship? "Is it not convenient that the ship our goods were on was diverted to a port that we do not know? That on the way to this port we are trailed and we are soon to be attacked?" Andraste gave a wave of her hand to the open span of sea where the two newest ships were on a course to ram the _Artemis_. Again her accent bobbed with frustration; "luck is not with us, Mr. Durson. We shall never be able to reach Port Royale without a fight and we have no ammunition for the cannons." 

"We could break the crock'ry an' use the cutl'ry!" suggested Durson

"Heaven's no!" scolded the Captain, "you obviously have no idea how hard it is to find quality eating wear in the Caribbean. We have to import our supplies from England. I'll thank you not to be throwing out the fine silverware." 

"Cap'n, please!"

Scowling, the lady captain paced on deck, issuing questions routinely to check that their course was still set on the bay, trying to think of something. Andraste knew that if she could get in to it, she might be able to lure the British Fleet out to destroy Geoffroi's forces. Her concern was the two smaller sloops that had gotten ahead of the heavy frigates. They were coming at her hard and fast, and though while not large enough to rake her own frigate their smaller bow chasers could pick off her crew. If they hit her with enough force she might even be knocked off course. Such things wouldn't do. In the event that her ship was disabled, the crew would have to be prepared for a broadside fight to the death – Andraste was not about to willingly surrender herself to anyone, especially Geoffroi the butcher. She'd rather die, or have him die for the matter, before such a situation ever occurred. All she wanted was to put distance between their ships. 

She turned back to her first mate and shook her head helplessly, a decision made, "and what good would it do us? We can't sink the ship with pewter plates. We need to continue on, lure the British out of their port. We only need to let them see our enemies and they'll come sailing out." 

The coxswain, eavesdropping throughout, gave Andraste a call to let her know he understood her plan and would carry it out. He wasn't ready for his dismissal as the Captain meant to take the helm and bring the ship to port herself. Though he disagreed heartily, he was silenced by the customary wave of a gloved hand and he stalked off to secure some block and tackle. 

Outrunning the small sloops by barely a small stretch of sea, the _Artemis_ crept agonizingly slow across the water towards Fort Charles. Though they were hitting their maximum speed it seemed as if they were being held back by the ocean. It was almost as if she had conspired against them to delay their passage to safety. She favored the men with bad intent this day; fickle in her allegiances as she was in her currents. Her softly lapping waves along the rocks were but the tip of the iceberg as beneath them the water was harsher and the rip tides stronger. The ocean liked to play games with her travelers and as they relied on her for transportation she relied on them for amusement. A pull of the waves here, a lack of push there, it made no difference to her so long as there was some form of chaos transpiring within her. She found these two captains _very _entertaining. 

High above the treacherous being, Fort Clarence gave out a few warning shots, warning the pirates away and alerting Port Royale's fleet of the danger. It had no effect on the captains playing cat and mouse around their waters. The gaps between the ships closed and so too did the hope of no confrontation leave. 

The closest sloop caught a southerly wind that blew it straight into the _Artemis's _path. Its captain had picked a perfect position for a cut off. Andraste begrudgingly accepted this and turned her ship starboard to avoid the smaller vessel and the reef that sat behind it. An encounter with jagged coral would leave her in a poor position. She would never be able to lure the ships in close enough for Royale's navy to capture them if she were stuck on a reef and under fire. The drawback to her turn was that it exposed a great deal of her port side to the enemy. She really had no choice. Taking a deep breath she steadied her ship, eyeing the other hungry vessel that closed in from behind her. 

Upon seeing the exposed side of the ship, the captain of the first sloop gave the order to fire. The eight-gunned ship scored no hits below sea level, but they did manage to kill a few crewmen and knock the planking off deck. At the site of their friends dead or drying, Andraste's crew became restless and pleading for a piece of the action. They had to avenge their comrades but the permission was not forthcoming, as the Rose wouldn't risk losing any more men. They would get their time soon enough, but to many this wasn't satisfying. 

Aboard the tenacious sloop, the guns were reloaded for another volley of fire while their twin set to work firing their bow chasers. The hits were inconsequential, slipping through sails and the captain's cabin. They ripped holes in the flank of the retreating ship, but there was no damage that would have been long lasting. What they needed was one lucky shot…

Andraste knew something was terribly wrong when the _Artemis _did not respond to her commands. She twisted the wheel both ways and received no response in direction. She shook her head; there was one logical explanation for this. "Durson! They've hit our rudder!"

Durson gripped the ropes in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. He saw the agitated stance of his captain as she tapped her foot impatiently, still grasping the wheel in her elegant hands. Her expression was more annoyed than afraid, but he soon saw her compose herself and stroll to the aft railing to look overboard. What she saw he didn't know but when she turned back she slapped her fist into the palm of her hand and clenched her teeth. She was upset about something. "CAP'N?" he yelled above the noise. Though battle was exhilarating to men like him, it was much preferred that he was not the one under fire. Durson had seen eight of the ships he had been stationed on sink and had grown tired of such events. Winning was always better than losing. 

"Prepare yourself for heavier fire than this. Our friend has come to join us," Andraste called back to him. She pointed to her left where one of the heavy frigates was gliding itself into firing position. She saw the other frigate turn itself around and force its way out of the bay. No doubt it didn't want to take any risks. The first of the cannon balls crashed into the quarterdeck, sending the Captain flying onto the main deck where the second launch was aimed. She steadied herself and returned to her position, urging her men to remain calm and pray to whatever Gods they chose to that the _Dauntless_ wasn't just a piece of ornamental harbor decoration as it appeared to be. 

Despite their prayers, from the small sloop came a _CRACK!_ and the lurch and groan of the _Artemis _sounded trouble. Another _CRACK!_ forced Andraste to accept that she probably couldn't salvage her ship. Three more _CRACKS! _sounded and it was known to all that their beloved frigate was going under. The crew knew that they had two options left: fight or swim for the rocks. Their captain made the decision for them as she saw the holes in her deck and the dead bodies splayed about. 

"All hands, abandon ship!" Andraste yelled, grasping the wheel tightly to keep her balance amongst the explosions. "Make for the rocks, you know what to do after that!" She knew that it would be precarious for her crew to still be aboard when it sunk. At the rocks, they could at least hide themselves and slowly drag their way to shore. They only had to watch out for the undercurrents and the sharks, but if they could do that then they'd be fine. 

Reluctantly, the crew and Mr. Durson nodded their heads. One by one they headed below deck and climbed out of the port cannon windows and into the warm, salty sea. That left Andraste and her crippled ship alone to bide them some time. 


	3. Playing for Time

Chapter 3: Playing for Time 

Andraste wasn't the fighting or truly heroic action sort by any standard. She fought when she had to, but she much preferred to speak her way out of compromising situations. She had some training with a sword but she hardly thought that her meager, below average skill would be enough to save her with one of Tortuga's best. Lucky as she was in melee fighting, she would not survive this one on one encounter. While she might have been unable to handle a large dragoon pistol, she was particularly accurate with the small two-barreled dueling pistol that she kept on her person, but that would most certainly hinder rather than help her. She didn't _want_ to kill Geoffroi, she just wanted him to leave her alone. She wasn't a murderer but if someone else could take responsibility for his ultimate demise, Andraste was more than willing to let them have their way with him. She was above his base tactics anyway – if he wanted to fight then he should demand satisfaction and duel with her for his honor. 

Seeing as that was never going to happen, she needed to buy herself time for the British Fleet to arrive and to do that she had to await Geoffroi's appearance and stall him. Whether it would work or not depended on how fast the legendary Commodore Norrington brought the HMS _Dauntless_ to bear. It wasn't imperative that her crew escaped, but Geoffroi was her problem and she hated involving others in private matters. 

The Captain went to her cabin to search for her letter of marque; she'd need it in order to save herself from the noose. She rummaged through her desk until she found the stamped paper and stuffed it quickly in a few sacks of cloth before placing into the waistband of her pants. Satisfied that she had all the information she'd need to escape trial, she made her way back to the helm and stood there tapping her fingers on the wheel until Geoffroi found his way aboard, brandishing both a cutlass and a malicious grin. He had come by a small rowboat. 

"It's been a long time eh, me dove?" Geoffroi took a few steps forward and twirled his cutlass in a loop. 

Andraste took out her own cutlass for posterity's sake and its unfamiliar weight almost forced her to drop it. She quickly brought her arm down so that the cutlass point was to the ground. "My dove?" she sneered. "Where are your friends, Geoffroi?"

Geoffroi leered, "right behind ye." For his French name, Geoffroi sounded nothing like a Frenchman. His accent was a common one and he slurred his words together in a way that was typically pirate. What he lacked in his verbal repertoire though, he made up in rugged good looks and a ruthless temper. With dark skin, green eyes and brown hair going slightly gray from age, he was a womanizer with a bad drink problem and a stench about him that would make a fly drop. Whether it was his smell, excellent sword work or cunning that left his enemies dead, no one really knew. 

Because of this, the _Artemis_'s captain knew much better than to turn around and look. There was a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, meaning that someone was behind her, but standing with her feet planted firm and a weapon in her hand she figured she could be quick enough to dive out of the way. 

"It be nice to see ye again," continued Geoffroi. "I missed ye since our last 'talk.'" 

Shuddering at the memory, Andraste gave a small peak towards Port Royale. The ships were moving out of the bay, and would be with her in a few minutes. Shifting her cutlass between her fingers, she had no choice but to continue on, to provoke Geoffroi into a fight or try and keep him occupied with a verbal sparring match. "If talk is what you can call it." 

"Can't ye take a little pain?" Geoffroi moved forward until he was face to face with her. His breath reeked, her's was no better by any stretch of the imagination, but she wasn't the one exhaling her stench all over his face. Giving a grin filled with gold teeth, Geoffroi trailed his cutlass down one cheek and then up the other, pushing the skin down hard enough to cause discomfort but not enough to cause blood. He stopped at the edge of the large black hat Andraste adorned her head with. Andraste found his touches sickening. 

"I can take pain but if you were any real gentleman, as you so claimed to me you were, you'd remove yourself from my personal vicinity. Now tell me, why on earth are you here?"

Geoffroi gave a low sounding growl. "Did ye not think me little plan perfec'? Here I lured ye into Port Royale, 'ere I'll leave ye, and 'ere ye'll 'ang for something ye didun do."

The Captain was not so surprised. She had guessed Geoffroi's plot, but not its intricacies. He had lured her into this part of the sea so he could destroy her when she was vulnerable. She had no means to defend herself, but surely he must have known that she'd have brought him into the custody of the British fleet? She had a letter of marque; she had a right to attack ships with discretion. Geoffroi did not. "You think you're very clever," purred Andraste, "but I know that the _Dauntless_ has long nines. They'll blast your ships out of the water, mine is already sinking so it is of no concern to me." 

Geoffroi only smiled and turned his back to walk away. "Oh Andraste, Andraste, Andraste. So little ye understan', how much ye still gotsa ta be learnin'!" 

Andraste shook her head and made ready to use her weapon. Talking was out of the question now. The _Dauntless_ may not reach her in time but it was in firing range. She needed Geoffroi on her ship when his own were blown apart. From there, he'd have to be taken with her and she could smile when she saw him hanging by the neck at dawn. 

"Are you up for a little duel?" there, she had released the bait. Like any hunter, Geoffroi turned back to her; he raised his eyebrows at the alluring suggestion. "For old time's sake? We can work…on the stipulation when you beat me as you so often do." 

Grinning wolfishly, Geoffroi nodded his head in agreement and put his sword to work, lunging forward and then thrusting and jabbing in subsequent turns. He feinted left and went right, then reversed his technique and dropped to the ground, rolling to his side and trying to come up and pierce the soft flesh of his opponent's belly. Every move he had ever learnt Geoffroi used to his advantage. He was the better swordsman and he found every weak spot, exploited every vulnerable point on Andraste's body. He teased her, giving sharp pokes to the spots he came in contact with, leaving small spots of blood that would soak through her white shirt into her black vest. 

Andraste though, was not teasing. This was a game for her life and the life of her crew. She stepped back and he stepped forward, she twisted her body to thrust backward and Geoffroi merely sidestepped and tried to knock her cutlass away. There was no move that Andraste's limited skill could conjure that Geoffroi could not block or twist to suit his own devices. She parried a thrust to her shoulder and then dove across the deck of her ship, skidding on her side and then scrambling back to her feet to avoid the downward chop aimed for her neck. She twirled to the mast and lunged around it when Geoffroi's first mate headed her way. He ran straight into her weak kick, knocking him back a few steps but enough to get his feet tangled in some loose rope. His flailing overbalanced him and he plunged overboard into the sea. 

Knowing that her luck was running thin, the Captain tried to put as much distance between her and Geoffroi. Of course this did not deter the older pirate, and he came charging. His cutlass twirling he moved far too quickly for the Rose to block or to parry; she was quite pinned. So it was that she found an accidental opening, she took it. Her cutlass hit the soft flesh of Geoffroi's face, and she tore down her sword, scratching out one of his eyes in the process. It gave her a slight advantage, now that she had partially blinded her opponent, but she did not have the time to savor her small victory. The clumsy first mate she had tripped had climbed his way back up, and now she was also dodging blows from him. As she turned to flee, he scored several swipes across her shoulders, cutting off some of her hair in the process and leaving a few shallow scratches.

Driven on by his vanity, Geoffroi was out for vengeance over his newly scarred face. He howled in rage and hurled himself forward, stabbing his cutlass deep into the Captain's thigh and tackling Andraste to the ground, knocking the hat from her head. Andraste screamed out in pain as she felt the blow from the blade. She lashed out beneath her enemy, trying to fend off the hands that reached about her throat. All she could do little to but claw and bite as would a wild beast.

It was at this time that the HMS _Dauntless_ had readied her guns and was about to bombard the pirate ships in their bay with shot and cannons. Commodore Norrington gave the signal and the guns were loaded and fired. One of the cannon balls hit the _Artemis_'s mainmast, crashing it down upon the deck; a few others breached the ship's planks and dropped straight down into the watery interior. A lucky one smashed into the quarterdeck, just short of Andraste's foot. 

Both pirates were unaware of the damage the _Dauntless_ was reeking on the _Artemis_, the largest of the three vessels in their range. Andraste was temporarily blinded by shards of wood and dust; Geoffroi was too beyond physical pain to feel it when a splinter impaled his leg. Both only realized what was happening when they heard guns, much closer, aiming at Geoffroi's ships. Two other ships of the fleet, the HMS _Triumph_ and the HMS _Moore_ had closed the gap and begun firing their smaller guns. 

Andraste scrambled to her feet, forcing her legs to support her weight. Favoring her right leg, she tried hobbling to the side of the ship and was about to jump over when she was knocked down to the deck by a hard blow from behind. Her head bounced against the floorboards of the ship, she made out the silhouette of a man holding his gun by its barrel.

"Ta, dove," Geoffroi smirked, his one good eye frosted over with malice, the other sat in his skull bleeding. With the aid of his first mate, he picked his way though the cannon fire and headed back to his ships. The splinter that impaled his leg was no where to be found. 

Andraste lost site of him, but knew that he would be gone once the _Dauntless_, _Triumph_ and _Moore_ crossed the gap. He would probably ride out the smaller sloop to his flagship that he'd have left anchored further down the coast. While still in its damaged conditioned, his little ramrods were damn quick, and as she pulled herself again to her feet she could already see it sailing away. There would be no chance for any of the British fleet to intercept Geoffroi, they could only fire on the swiftly retreating schooner or continue their bombardment of the _Artemis_, something they were happily obliged to do.

With as many holes as she did devilish ideas, the _Artemis_ was taking on water fast. Already she was starting to tip on her side, shaking the balance from her Captain and tumbling her down the tilted deck of the ship. If given a few minutes more, her wooden hulk would be at the bottom of the bay sleeping in Davy Jones's locker. All the wildest stunts, all the most daring escapes that the ship had seen in its time at sea were nothing compared to this last voyage; the _Artemis_ was sinking, the first of her three twins to do so. She would be left only to legend – The _Artemis_, personal ship of Andraste Morgan Rose, was no more. 


	4. Collisions

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Chapter 4: Collisions 

Now the Captain of the _Artemis_ knew that time was running out for both herself and the ship. Understanding that her only chance was to jump into the bay, Andraste searched for some piece of wood to act as a raft. She was hardly in any condition to swim to shore given her leg. The blood alone would attract sharks uncounted and her splashing to stay afloat would do little to deter them. Balancing herself again on the edge of her swaying ship and biting back the yelp of pain as she put pressure on her leg, she surveyed the water for any debris the cannons may have caused. The only thing that caught her eye were two wooden planks that had been blown from the hull, both large enough to suit her purposes.

Grabbing her hat and holding it in one hand, Andraste dove off the edge of her ship, hitting the water with a loud splash. Luckily, she had aimed close enough and came bobbing to the surface a few feet away from her desired planks. She dog paddled the remaining feet and hurriedly stuck one plank beneath her knees and the other beneath her neck. Though unstable, the wood gave the Captain a good means to stay afloat, even if her blood was pooling in the water about her. Hopefully the sinking of the _Artemis_ would be enough to deter any sensing sharks. If it wasn't… 

She wasn't bobbing in the water for long; the _Dauntless_ made all haste to sail its way towards her. Though while she didn't expect understanding from the marines, she wasn't prepared for their coarse handling. Obviously they were used to male prisoners, but as soon as she had pulled herself onto the main deck of the _Dauntless_ (and what a climb that had been!) she was hauled brutally to her feet, leg wound and all, and clapped in irons. She was also looking up the barrels of several rifles pointed in her vicinity. Andraste could only try and keep herself alert, fighting the blood loss that made her light headed. 

"Well, well, had your ship sunk did you, pirate?" came the voice of one Commodore James Norrington, the bane of pirates across the ocean.

The Captain removed her hat, pushing her fatigue aside, and gave a small bow. She allowed her charm to surface. She was Andraste Morgan Rose, a woman with a shipload of charisma; a well dressed, properly versed and dashing swashbuckler of the Caribbean Sea. "Commodore Norrington, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I was wondering when we would finally meet." She smiled, "I'm Andraste Rose, captain of the _Artemis_." Andraste struggled with her shirt to get to her letter. She handed the wet bundle to the Commodore, "my letter of marque, sir. I am no pirate." She desperately hoped the man would be able to look past her sodden appearance.

Norrington only studied the smudging paper for a moment before handing it to a portly marine. He gave a forced smile, "your letter is no longer valid." At seeing the prisoner's subdued shock, the Commodore continued, "you attacked a British ship on route to Falmouth. You are no longer subject to the protection the Admiralty has placed upon you, ergo you are guilty of treason." 

Andraste shook her head, absolutely adamant that she was innocent. "I attacked no British ships on my way to Falmouth. The last vessel that faced my guns was a Dutch ship in the Windward Passage. I know he was Dutch because he was flying Dutch colors and did not change them when he saw me."

"Three other merchant vessels saw you. Two of which reported you. When help arrived, what was left of the attacked ship was a smoking ruin and dead bodies. The survivors of the attack verified that it was your ship they encountered. You are quite guilty, Miss Rose. There is no denying it," the Commodore said matter of factly. "Lieutenant Gillette!" 

"Aye, Commodore?"

"See to it that she's put in the brig until we're back to port. You can then escort our guest to Royale's prison and accommodate her with a cell."

Gillette nodded his head, "aye, aye, sir!" and had two of the marines grasp Andraste by the arms and haul her down to the _Dauntless_'s brig. 

When she was left alone, the Captain set about to ripping her black vest into a convenient bandage for her wounded thigh. The gold buttons were used to secure the vest in place and in the long run stem the bleeding. She could do nothing for the scrape across her back or her broken leg, and satisfied herself by thinking what she could do to prove her innocence.

Meanwhile, Commodore James Norrington paced about his cabin with his first Lieutenant following closely at his heels. They were discussing their recent capture of the female privateer–turned–pirate and the men who had escaped their grasp. 

"Commodore, sir," began Gillette, "we could send out the _Triumph_ and the _Moore_ to follow them. They couldn't have gotten too far away."

Norrington sighed and turned to face his younger officer. They were seperated by a gap of six years, but the Commodore knew his first officer was on a track for greatness. Yet he lacked that drive that he had once had. Norrington had spent his youth training and climbed the ranks steadily forward, with only one misdemeanor to his name. He trusted Richard Gillette with his life; the young officer had never failed him in any respects, which is the reason why he had taken him under his wing in the first place. Yet at times he was too zealous and didn't consider the repercussions of his actions. "Mr. Gillette, to what end would our chase do? We would send them further out to sea and never catch them. No," James shook his head, "we shall bide our time."

Gillette looked sheepishly at his commanding officer from under long eyelashes. James had often reprimanded him on his quick-to-act nature, "patience is a virtue?"

The Commodore allowed himself to smile; he liked Richard. "You have taken that to heart, I presume?"

"Commodore's orders, sir."

Norrington gave a small laugh, removing the imperial air about him. It was only Richard and a few choice people who had seen him outside of the uniform; James was a lover of literature and music, not warfare and ships. Nonetheless, as soon as his wig was in place, the thoughtful demeanor evaporated like the ocean's spray on a ship's deck. When he was on duty, James was serious, commanding and even more intimidating. He was greatly admired by his crew and feared by all wrong doers. 

Much like everyone else, Richard felt safe when James was about; his superior had everything in order on the ship and on the seas. He would lay down his life in instant to help him if it were needed or defend his commander's honor if any man dare slander it. With that devotion, he also wanted to protect his friend in personal matters. He knew of what had happened with Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner, he was there when it occurred, and couldn't help but feel sympathy for his commander.

When James wasn't looking, Gillette would often study him and notice the changes in his face. His eyes became sad and expressive, the jaw slackened somewhat and the posture slumped at the shoulders. It was on those rare occasions that the Commodore was entirely vulnerable; looking off across the distant expanse of sea and wishing for there to be something more. Even now, Lieutenant Gillette saw that vulnerability in his unguarded smile. 

"Lieutenant? Is something wrong?" 

Richard shook his head in a daze and averted his eyes respectfully. James had been more alert than he had judged. "No, sir." 

Though not convinced, Norrington let the matter lie. Gillette had been strangely sensitive to his moods as of late. "Very well then, Lieutenant." There was some more talk between the two about repairs to Fort Charles before the conversation gradually died away. It left the two men in an uncomfortable silence, where one wanted the other to say something. Knowing that the ship was soon to dock, James thought it best to dismiss Richard so that he could take care of arrangements and gather the prisoner. 

Gillette saluted, and stopped momentarily at the door. Bowing his head and strengthening his resolve, the _Dauntless_'s first lieutenant made his way out into the sunshine.


	5. In a Pestilential Prison

___I have some loyal reviewers who I absolutely adore. Lady Peregrine and Elske, muchas gracias por todos! Errr…thanks for everything! :D And you too, Erin, thanks for putting up with me and my ramblings! _

**Chapter 5: In a Pestilential Prison with a Life Long Lock**

"Come along!" ordered Gillette. He was standing with fourteen marine guards outside the captured Captain's cell, awaiting her to arise from her sitting position on the floor. 

Andraste gave a small bark of laughter and stuck forth her hand, her glove encrusted with blood, "you might need to give me a little more assistance than that. Unless you want me to crawl to your prison...?" 

Gillette frowned. He knew his call of duty, but he was also a gentleman and wouldn't deny an injured woman aid. Still, she was a pirate and he didn't dare touch her himself. She might bleed on his uniform. "Mr. Murtogg, Mr. Mullroy! See to it that our 'friend' here is set on her feet. She is in your charge. Carry her if you have to." 

Murtogg grimaced, "but, sir…"

The first lieutenant gave an exasperated sigh and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the larger of the two marines, Mullroy, to give his rifle to Murtogg and scoop up the pirate captain in his arms. He heard the sharp hiss of pain from the woman as her injured leg was jostled about. She wasn't the only one in pain, as stout Mullroy gave a muffled groan of protest as he fell towards the center of the formation. Andraste was a bit more woman than he had anticipated. 

Making their way up ship and across town proved no easy feat. The group was constantly stopping along the way to let Mullroy rest, or let Andraste take a moment to gather her senses. In the end, the Lieutenant was so fed up of the situation he commandeered a wagon and drove the _Artemis_'s Captain to the prison himself. Not entrusting Mullroy again, wiry Richard Gillette slung an arm of the injured woman over his shoulders and wrapped an arm about her waist. Slowly but steadily Gillette dragged her through the prison doors and into the custody of the surly warden. He quickly disengaged himself and glowered at Mullroy. 

The warden was a little surprised to see an officer escorting a woman to prison, and questioned the lieutenant if it was some joke on the navy's part. Gillette explained to him that she was a pirate and that the noose "made no exceptions about gender." Though this troubled the warden, considering he'd never seen a woman hang in Port Royale, he was in no position to dispute a man in service to his king. He couldn't very well break the law because of his uncertainty. The finality in this lieutenant's voice also couldn't be ignored. The woman _could_ be more dangerous than she seemed. Convincing himself that his newest inmate was indeed a vile and dissolute creature, he gladly took full charge of her. He thrusted her over one of his mighty shoulders and began to descend the stairs to the prison cells. 

Not accustomed to being manhandled, Andraste gave Gillette a dark look as she disappeared down the stairwell. She had never felt so insulted in all her years. She gave mute protests to the indignant way that she was being carried, scowling at prisoners who gave her smarmy grins as she passed posterior first before them. 

When he reached an especially foul cell, the warden dumped her and, making sure she was in sufficient pain to not try and escape, removed her shackles and slammed the iron barred door closed. Andraste was left sitting on the floor of her filthy prison, her leg throbbing out blood and collecting dirt, her back aching just as bad. In the barred rooms on either sides of her, there were cellmates wanting to pose questions, adding another infliction to the new comer, a head ache. 

Looking to the bright side of things, at least she had a room with a window. Using the bars of the door to aid her standing up, Andraste fumbled along the adjacent wall to an alcove just below the iron grate that served as her view to the world. It was a perfect fit for her to sit upon and gaze out across the ocean and Fort Charles, allowing her to prop her bad leg up. 

"Who are ye?" asked an ugly looking fellow who pressed himself up against the bars to compensate for his poor vision. "Do'n look like a pirate ta'me." 

"Yeah, what's ye purpose?" came the chorus of inquisitions hurled at Captain Rose. "Where ye been?" "Do I know ye?" "Get me outta here?" When no answer was forthcoming from their new cellmate, the other prisoners set back down to try and devise an escape plan. Mainly they wanted to wring the neck of the scrawny dog holding the keys. The dog knew this too, and stayed conveniently out of reach.

It was all too soon before the sky began to darken with the encroach of night and an impending storm on the horizon. Whilst Andraste and her company prepared themselves for a damp night, Commodore Norrington and Lieutenant Gillette were sharing a meal in relative comfort at the Fort Charles barracks. They were chatting softly about the storm heading their way; it looked to be a hurricane. 

"What are we going to do about the ships, sir?" asked Gillette softly. He idly pushed some beef around his plate with his fork, not in the least bit interested in eating it. 

"Now, now, Gillette, you should know better than to play with your food," said James with a tone of mock scorn. In all respect, he wasn't that hungry either. 

Ceasing his stalling, Richard cut a sliver of the beef and placed it in his mouth. He chewed it a few times and swallowed with an over dramatic grimace. He could see James's face twitch several times as he tried to suppress a smile. After the exciting day they had had, it was nice to relax. Both officers were technically off duty, but they didn't dare touch the wine that had been given out. If there was an attack during the night, as they were often so ready to believe, both men wanted to be at their very best and not under the influence of alcohol. 

"With this storm, we may not get to hang those pirates by tomorrow," commented Norrington as he placed his knife and fork down upon his plate. "We'll have to do them later."

Gillette hadn't really thought about the delays the hurricane would bring. The HMS _Moore_'s upgrades would have to wait, as well as the repairs to the seaside buildings of Port Royale. "That does slow us down."

"Yes, but we could always shoot the bastards and get it over with," Norrington let out a small chuckle.

"Sir!"

"Pardon?" 

Time for Gillette to get his own back, "that's no way for a gentleman to speak."

Raising a dark eyebrow, James gave a rakish grin, something that Gillette had never seen him do. "Oh I don't know about that. Who was it that cursed to me in three different languages when he learned that Captain Jack Sparrow had eluded him?" 

"Sir, I know only two languages, French and English."

Another laugh. "Well I'd love to know what it was you were saying in the dreadful accent." 

"I know a little Dutch," admitted Richard. "But I don't remember ever speaking to you in it, Commodore."

"You don't remember because you were stark raving mad!"

"I was never mad, sir." Gillette took a moment to change his voice into that of Norrington's, "I feel insulted that you might imply such a thing." 

"Mimicking a superior officer?" Norrington placed his crossest expression on his face. "I could hang you upside down from the forward rigging for that."

Gillette blanched. "My apologies, sir!" 

James saw the reverse in moods and rested a softer gaze upon the younger man, "Mr. Gillette, don't be daft, I didn't mean it."

The lieutenant let out his breath and tried to calm himself. Before his time in Port Royale, he had been a midshipman on a strict ship with very creative punishments, most of which were not idle threats. He had lived with the fear of God about his captain (who incidentally acted like one), and was immensely pleased when he had been assigned to the Caribbean. It had been six years since his arrival and he had enjoyed his stay thus far. Mostly it was all to do with James's doing, as he had been captain of the Dauntless when he had boarded. Their relationship at first had been timid; Gillette had done all he could to avoid him. Yet over time he had come to see that not all captains were as self-serving as others and after being placed in battle next to the Commodore they had developed a sort of brotherly bond. James had brought back the confidence he had lost aboard his time on the HMS _Edward_. 

"Of course, sir. Just remembering my times aboard the _Edward_. It's hard to forget them." 

"Yes, some captains rule their ships with a hard heart, paranoia and beatings to spare. Beatings only teach a man one thing, Gillette, how to turn his back." 

"Aye, sir," agreed Richard. "But there's no trouble here as far I can see."

James cocked his head to one side, a thoughtful smile spread across his face. "Yes, yes, Richard, I do hope you're right."

Gillette returned the smile, "I know I'm right, sir."

~~~

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A/N: If you could spot the Sharpe reference, then you get bonus points ^^,


	6. The Collection

****

Chapter 6: The Collection

The hurricane swept over the southern coast of Jamaica, sending lightening and thunder to threaten the sleeping ports of Royale and Kingston. The rain was heavy and oppressive, as was the general mood of Port Royale. The people were anxious to see the hangings of the nefarious creatures that were locked up in their damp prison cells. They wanted some retribution against the lives that had been lost when the _Black Pearl_ had attacked not more than a month earlier. When the citizens wanted justice, it was up to the law to see it carried out.

With the escape of Jack Sparrow, Royale's fleet had been on their guard for the wayward rogue, waiting for him to show his face. The Admiralty didn't really consider him a threat but Jack Sparrow led by example; if he could away with his bad behavior, why couldn't any one else? So both Fort Charles and Clarence had been on constant watch for any sign of the _Black Pearl_ and her crew, though they knew it was probably unlikely that Sparrow would be daft enough to come back to Port Royale in full pirate regalia. Most likely he would bribe passage onto a merchant ship and take a disguise. That did not mean that Royale's officials had been obsessing over the capture of one man. Jack Sparrow was a hobby for them, something to do in their spare time. 

So it was that under the cover of darkness the crew of the _Artemis_ slipped out from their hiding spot. They had been seeking cover in the wrecked houses of Royale's 1692 earthquake, staying among the broken homes that were still partially above sea level. As their captain had instructed them to do, they had scouted for a suitable ship to take them to Falmouth where they would join up with the elder Roses. What had become of their captain was unknown to them, but this plan had been tried and tested and resulted in the loss of very few men. 

Being the next in command of the motley bunch, Mr. Durson led the raid to seize one of the ships that had been safely secured out of the storm's reach. Only a fool would have been crazy enough to sail out with a ship in this weather, which is why Durson had chosen the time to seize the ship during the storm. He'd been at sea more years than his captain had been alive and he had faced worse scraps than this. 

Stealthily and cautiously, the crew made their way out of their small hideaway and crept along the beach. They spotted their quarry anchored near the opposite end, bobbing restlessly. It was a merchant vessel; it had probably delivered its goods to Royale and was about to set sail when the hurricane had blown in. Whether or not it was carrying cargo didn't matter to Durson, all he wanted to do was to get to Falmouth and alert Robert Rose that he couldn't find his daughter. 

He had heard rumors of a pirate captain captured…but Durson didn't want to think of his friend hanging by her neck when the hurricane finished. Time was of the absolute importance. Time meant life in this case. The rest of his crew appeared to be like minded to him, Andraste had either taken them from lives of servitude or been willing to overlook certain misgivings they had committed. They couldn't very well abandon their captain! She wouldn't have abandoned them, or at the very least she'd have sent some help for them if she couldn't come herself.

Through the rain and wind they somehow floundered their way onto the deck of the merchant ship, sopping wet with both seawater and the downpour. The ship wasn't watched as far as they could tell, there were no signs of crew on board in this weather, but they guessed that someone might have come to check if the ship was in order at sometime. The _Artemis's_ crew didn't consider the inspectors relevant; they were more worried about making it home. 

It took them a few hours to get the ship in sailing condition, adjusting the sails to suit the winds and firming the knots before Mr. Durson took the helm and guided the boat out of the bay and onto the ocean. It would be sometime before they could return, perhaps a week or more, and they had to hope that their captain was a resourceful enough woman to buy herself some time. She had to know they were coming back for her…  
  
And indeed, Andraste had a feeling they would. She sat at the small window of her cell for the remainder of the storm, slipping in and out of consciousness. Her wound was infected and the feelings of hot and cold that plagued her senses vaguely distorted what she saw around her. She was starving and dehydrated, her leg had become swollen and oozed puss now and then. Moving was far too painful, making it impossible for her to get up and grab her rations. She didn't even have the chance to; a prisoner from the next cell greedily reached through the bars and stole them for himself. 

Had she of not been in such a helpless state, she'd have reached through her own iron cage and throttled him stupid. But as it was, her state was the antithesis of her lifestyle: grimy, crusty, malodorous and without reason. She could only ease her discomfort with thoughts of hanging the man by his scraggly ear hair, preferably from the bowsprit of her boat. Occasionally she retched from pure hungry, but after awhile nothing came up except for blood and acid. She was completely and utterly miserable. 

Time passed slowly for the inmates, but on the fifth day, or so Andraste thought it was, the sun had finally returned from its rest and was shining as happily as ever. For the prisoners, her shine meant their despair. It was no surprise then, that Gillette appeared at the prison with the first ray of sunshine, ready to escort all eleven of them to the gallows. Captain Rose noted the smirk on his face as he watched the marines prodding the pirates sharply with the tips of their rifles. She didn't like that grin, it reminded her too much of a man she would rather have left behind.

When it was her turn to go, she stumbled forward out of her cage, reeking like death itself, and turned crusty eyes on her captors. They didn't dare touch her. Her hair was matted with blood and dirt that was beyond washable and her skin had the pallor of the deceased to it, they could see it was turning green in certain places. Gillette wanted to be sick and refused to walk within fifteen feet of her. Andraste didn't care, she didn't even know that she was dragging herself behind some eight prisoners. However, she did know that she was going to die, and somewhere deep within her troubled mind, she was vaguely aware that she didn't like the prospect.

The sun had turned blistering hot in the sky and was heating the stone at the square when all the prisoners arrived. Those few sea rovers without shoes were dancing before the guards and begging for a piece of shade. The guards laughed in response. Yet most had boots and were not troubled by the sun, they spent years at sea and their leathery skin was more than adequately hardened to withstand harsher rays than that. Andraste was notably without her possessions; both hat and gloves had been stealthily removed by a marine with strong fortitude. She was angry, in a primitive way, that someone had dared removed her personal property. Andraste hated it when people touched her things without permission. 

She was unable to act on this anger and was forced to wait until her name was called. When it was, she was dragged up the stairs by the executioner, who coincidentally knew exactly what steps would cause her bloated leg the most pain. He tried to set her back straight, but the Rose would only teeter forward or backward depending on the positioning of her legs. He placed his feet to the sides of hers and deftly settled the noose about her neck. Andraste balanced on her good leg, again swaying severely to her left and then to her right. 

"Andraste Morgan Rose," began the crier. "You have been charged with treacherous acts…"

Through her watery eyes, the Welsh woman made out the form of Commodore Norrington standing next to an older, nonchalant looking man. Beside them were a man and woman, the woman holding the younger man's arm. Her consort was scowling at the display. 

"…against King and Country. Attacking a ship of your own Admiralty's alliance…" 

She caught Lieutenant Gillette looking at the body of the recently hanged pirate being hauled away by several of the redcoats, his eyebrows raised when one of the men let their end of the corpse slip. 

"…assaulting a ship flying British colors between Nassau and Falmouth, therefore breaking your letter of marque that was provided you in Kingston…"

The world around her was spinning. 

"…you are sentenced to hang by the neck until dead."

Then the ground came up to meet her.


	7. Commotions

****

Chapter 7: Commotions

The executioner had not been ready when the pirate had dropped at his feet, slipping out of the noose that had been around her neck. This hadn't been the first time that such an event had occurred, many a sailor had tried to trick him with such an act, but this time looked all too real. The stench, for one, was stronger than those of the dead bodies being carried away by the stoic marines and the looks of the pirate clearly indicated that something within her was terribly wrong. 

Because this was no ruse, the man had no clear indication what he was supposed to do. Did he prop the woman back on her feet and steady her until the noose was dropped? And if that were the case, how would they tell she was dead if she were already unconscious? Would the Commodore send her away to the doctor? All these questions were not solely on his mind but the majority of the crowd was also interested in their answers, with the exception of those who had wanted to see the lady pirate hang. They were just disappointed. 

Lieutenant Gillette was already making the decision from the looks the Commodore was giving him. They had perfected this form of silent communication from their years aboard the _Dauntless_ together. They could read the thoughts on the other's mind simply by noting stance, expression and the way the hands were positioned. In this case, Norrington was shaking his head and waving his hand in a dismissal motion, signaling that this hanging would have to wait. Gillette ordered several marines to gather the heap on the hanging platform and have her taken to the physician. He'd know what to do with her.

The redcoats, now and then an arm or leg slipping from their grasp, tentatively lifted Andraste off the ground and down the platform. The men gingerly picked their way through the throngs of people, all of which were clambering nearer to them to get a good look at what was wrong with the girl they were taking away. Some women gasped and covered their faces with linen handkerchiefs; others covered the eyes of their eager children. Their husbands shook their heads and tisked loudly, giving silent warnings to the younger, more rambunctious crowd members that all pirates ended up that way in the end. 

When the small group was out of sight, the gathering of onlookers returned to normal and waited for the next man to be hanged. When they discovered that Captain Rose had been the last of the criminals for sometime, they groaned in protest and sullenly returned back to their daily lives. The children lingered a little longer than the adults, sneaking peaks at some of the dried blood on the platform and staring in awe at the noose but Elizabeth Swann shooed them away. 

Miss Elizabeth had been to her fair share of hangings, or attempted hangings as she tried to suppress a smile. She remembered when Jack Sparrow had escaped from certain death not more than a month earlier. It had been the talk of Port Royale for some time and yet had died down as most things did. Like Jack Sparrow, this What's-her-name Rose would hold the people's attention for as long as she stayed in James Norrington's custody. She gave a gentle smile to her fiancé, a man by the name of Will Turner. 

He turned dark eyes her direction, his face contorted into a grimace. Will Turner, after his most recent escapade with Sparrow, had started to rethink his outlook on the law. There were far too many shades of gray in his mind, many excuses or reasons for why someone would turn to a life of piracy. It made him guilty and it made him sad. Elizabeth sensed this and led him away from the square back to his small residence near the smithy. 

This left Norrington and Governor Swann conversing quietly, with Gillette soon adding himself into their midst. Swann was recovering from the excitement of seeing one of the pirates worm their way out of a hanging. It broke form the traditional normalcy that had come upon the hangings in recent years. He didn't enjoy them, but Weatherby Swann was obligated to attend them as duty called. He also wasn't overly fond of exposing his daughter to such things, it was no place for a lady of her breeding to see the execution of individuals as base as these, but she had often insisted. The Governor could not deny his daughter anything in the world, and it was too late now to change it. 

"She is so like her mother," he commented to Norrington and Gillette, watching his beloved child walk away. "So strong, so beautiful. I do love her dearly."

Norrington gave a half smile, somewhat sad and wistful. Gillette noticed the look again and steered the conversation onto something less painful for his commander. "One of the merchant ships is missing from the harbor."

James's gaze became focused, more intense as his mind worked quickly to calculate the situation. "When did it leave?"

"We don't know, sir. Merchant Darlington knew it was there during the hurricane, placed it there himself and checked it before the storm started. He claims it was right next to Merchant Susanson's vessel, yet when he got to it early this morning, it was gone." Gillette gave a sigh. "A copy of the reports are on your desk, sir. I briefly read through them before I went to collect the pirates." 

"What do you think it means, Commodore?" asked Governor Swann pleasantly. He knew full well that his chief officer would have everything sorted out by midmorning the next day. 

The Commodore clasped his hands behind his back, his face set into a determined mask. "It was not Susanson who took the ship and nobody's foolish enough to ride out into the middle of a hurricane. Either the ship sunk," he paused, if for anything more than dramatic effect, "or we have some daredevil rogues on our hands."

Gillette's eyes glittered with excitement, "could it be Sparrow, sir?"

James was not surprised at the immediate conclusion. Sparrow had been on everyone's mind. Governor Swann looked nervously amused. Norrington knew better than to think that it was Jack Sparrow who had taken the ship from the bay. "I doubt very much that it was Sparrow. He would have come into port and made a few visits, you and I being prime on his list, along with Turner." He paused and looked at Gillette, "has he come to you?" He had to wonder why his Lieutenant was so eager to capture or, dare he think it, see that pirate again. 

"No, not at all, sir. I haven't seen one wit of that man since he sailed out of sight." 

"Then it was not Sparrow," James concluded.

The group stood in silence for a few minutes, but it was then that a thought popped into Swann's head. "Commodore? What ever became of that pirate Rose's crew? Did she sail alone?" He felt very clever with this break through. 

Norrington picked up on his governor's train of thought and brought his head forward so that he was staring into the buckles of his shoes. It did make sense in a way. The crew had abandoned ship, floundered their way to the rocks and hidden along the wreckage of the earthquake. During the storm, they had braved the weather and sailed the ship out of the harbor as best they could, but where they were headed he did not know. Was this crew loyal to Captain Rose or were they heading to fret away some hidden treasure at a pirate cove? That was the trickiest piece of the puzzle. 

If they were dishonorable, most likely the pirate crew would never return. But if they were faithful…James knew Royale would have to be on its guard. The pirates might return with more ships and heavier guns, wanting to reek retribution for their captain's sake. The question was, how many friends could this Andraste have?

~~~

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A/N: You need to get your eyes checked if you missed the Coupling reference ;)  
– And suggestion from August noted. Thank you! The situation hadn't even occurred to me. 


	8. Physical Healing

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Forgive my poor medical knowledge, I tried to be vague so as not to dig a hole for myself. Most likely doctors back then weren't as proficient as Henry Winchcombe, but bear with me. 

****

Chapter 8: Physical Healing 

Doctor Winchcombe was sleeping at his desk when an urgent rapping on his door caused him to awaken. Looking through unfocused eyes, he made his way past several great bookcases on medical knowledge and fumbled with the door's handle. This had been a quiet day for him and he had taken the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the land of nod. Grumbling, he opened the door and was about to berate his young assistant for disturbing him when he saw several British marines mulling around a prone body they had laid on a nearby table. 

The young assistant mumbled a few words about a hanging and a pirate, but the doctor could smell the stench of a wound anywhere and hurried to the prone body. Pulling on an apron, setting some water to boil and scrubbing his hands in a basin of water by his equipment stand; the doctor asked the closest marine to him what had happened.

Henry Winchcombe had always been the laughing stock of his medical school in London. He had considered many of the usual techniques for fighting delirium and troublesome wounds to be barbaric and irrational. That's why he had left for the Caribbean. When his ship had arrived in Jamaica, a younger version of himself had steadily questioned natives on their practices for healing the sick and found more innovative treatments to help his patients. He was laughed at time and again by his peers, but Winchcombe was adamant that his ways were better and continued to practice what he called 'sane medicine.' 

"Well you see, Doctor Winchcombe," began the marine, "this lady here is a pirate and was wounded in a skirmish with another pirate. We didn't think nothing of her leg wound, so we didn't take any real precautions. We placed her in a jail cell." The redcoat looked guiltily at the hat in his hands. "She was there for four days, today was her hanging. She fell to the ground, slipping out of her noose and didn't get back up again, but started mumbling strange things. The Commodore ordered that we bring her here."

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, Winchcombe turned his full attention to the sickly pirate. He was no stranger to these types of situations. Through a few more branches of dialogue, he learned specifically that the woman was called Andraste, a name he could recall but couldn't place, and appeared to have taken a stab to her thigh.

Using a pair of scissors, he cut her pant leg at the thigh away, and inspected the puncture. It wasn't too deep and it only bled now and again as it was partially scabbed over, though the blood clotting was very soft. The skin about it had turned a sickly yellow green. He also saw that she was fevered and linked that the wound had something to do with her mental state. 

Though they protested against it, he made two soldiers hold Andraste down at the ankle and another hold her body down at the shoulders. Doctor Winchcombe had no way of discerning if the next few steps in his cleaning would awaken the fevered woman. Applying a tourniquet above the wound, the doctor ridded it of the soft if not congealed scab and poured some strong smelling liquid into it. Andraste jerked forward with a yelp, breaking free of her restraints, but immediately fell back and did not stir again. Once he was certain that there was no way she could break free, the doctor then proceeded to sprinkle salt a top the puncture. 

"Andrew!" barked Winchcombe to his assistant. The boy stood to attention and awaited his command. "Fetch me my tree moss and boiling water so that I may make a poultice!" Awaiting his apprentice's return, he turned to the task of examining the damage. From what he could tell by sight and a little gentle probing, there were no other punctures. He briefly considered using gunpowder to cauterize the wound, but it would require stitches in order for it to mend properly. 

All the while mumbling about Andrew's incompetence, Winchcombe readied his needle and thread. Knowing that a woman would not enjoy an unsightly scar, he made many small stitches, allowing himself time to practice upon his patient a secret hobby of his: sowing. 

Andrew returned when the doctor was about finished with his stitching. Tying up the last stitch, the doctor placed his equipment away and turned his attention to the making of the poultice. There was something very soothing about the healing ill and he took his practice very seriously. He was no retired sergeant, no he had been a doctor for most of his career. He had seen Port Royale grow into it what it was now and he had imparted his knowledge onto others (Though his current student had no talent for the healing arts.). 

He snatched the moss away from his baffle headed apprentice and steeped them in the boiling water. He then prepared a bandage and soaked that within the liquid and wrapped it tightly about the pirate's leg. Taking a few more dry bandages, he again wrapped them about the leg and secured it. Straightening the coarse fabric until he was satisfied, Winchcombe then removed the tourniquet and set to work looking for other cuts and abrasions. He could find no other ailments except for the scratches along her back that he cleaned and cared for and had the privateer transferred to a room with a solitary bed and a few chairs in order to rest in private. 

Once she was settled, he called forth his nurse, Sister Constance and had her bathe and change his newest patient. Sister Constance also took the liberty to trim away the matted clumps of hair and uneven hang from the sword fight. For modesty's sake the doctor supplied the nun with a white shirt and loose brown pants, which were missing their left pant leg at the thigh, for the Captain. Her wound would be less awkward if she had been a man, but Andraste was a woman and could not change that. 

The kind sister volunteered to keep vigilance over the newest ward. Doctor Winchcombe agreed to her care.


	9. Windows of Opportunity

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Well, I'd like to thank everyone's who reviewed so far! You guys make my day every time someone leaves a comment. 

Who is Andraste modeled after? No one in particular, I was trying to create a character that a naval officer could relate with and yet could be driven up the wall by. Hopefully she'll do her job very well!   
  
Now on to Chapter 9…  
  
**Chapter 9: Windows of Opportunity  
  
**James Norrington sat on the edge of the stone wall over looking the harbor of Port Royale. His eyes were trained on the distant horizon as he watched the splashes of color melt into the sea. The sunsets weren't as meaningful as he remembered them, and Norrington had seen a great deal of sunsets in his life. He had tried to memorize each and savor their details. It was something he could look forward to at the end of the day. Sunrises on the other hand, had never interested him as he was always too groggy to appreciate them. But sunsets he had the time for.   
  
He was an advocate of the rainbow and a disciple of flowers; splashes of colors never failed to cheer him up. The earliest and fondest memories of his childhood were those of his mother in their small garden. He could remember the bright flowers of their yard, in a time before they had moved to the city and he had been sent away to make his career as an officer. As a midshipman in the Royal Navy, he was trained to see in only black and white. Ever so slowly he had made the transition back to color. When he was promoted to Lieutenant things became gray and they remained that way through his captaincy and then his appointment to Commodore. No real progress had been made to rediscover that inner joy, but when Miss Swann had agreed to be his wife there was an explosion of pigment before his eyes. It was like seeing the world for the first time. It was glorious! Never had he felt happier, but such a beautiful thing had been snatched away boy a lanky boy with sad brown eyes.   
  
Ever since then, things had started to fade. He could see a painting and recognize the different hues. Yet when he looked up from it, everything was dulled. He lived now in a muted world. It was a place where everything but the harsh boundary was glazed over. This boundary seperated him from others, a sort of stained glass window looking out and allowing faded rays of happiness and friendship in.   
  
Duty meant everything to him, duty and honor. All his life he had climbed through the ranks of the British Navy believing that and now, at thirty-one, he had a steady promotion. A Commodore, the next step for him would be an Admiral. However, it wouldn't be seemly if he did it all alone. Many of his younger officers had sweethearts and those in command above him were married. It wasn't uncommon for an officer or two to be widowed or unmarried, but James Norrington had never seen himself alone for the remainder of his life. He had thought that Elizabeth Swann might have been his match. She was feisty and brash, but she was also a lady of good birth, as smart and refined as he.   
  
But she had chosen a different road, one that's path led in a different direction. "With Will Turner," James sighed and his shoulders slouched. He did not hear Lieutenant Gillette make his way up the stairs behind him.   
  
Gillette did not immediately announce his presence to his commander. Instead, he leant on a nearby pillar and watched the red sky highlight his friend's outline, leaving him with a distinct impression of James's handsome profile. He noted the smooth, straight nose, the high forehead and distinct chin, the way his lips parted in a silent sigh…how Elizabeth had chosen a boy instead of this man was beyond Gillette's guess. He was tall and well built, with perfect posture and composure, long legged and had supple hands, there was no limit to his potential. He just didn't want to see it.   
  
During Gillette's time on land, he may have taken a girl once or twice, but James was a person that he admired and adored. He would rather die than see him harmed. He couldn't say that about many other people in his life. At first he had wrote it off as hero worship, that his attraction to his commander was because he was everything Gillette wanted to be. Later though, when he had seen James's darker side, the feeling still remained. He genuinely and deeply cared for him.   
  
He knew it was impolite to stare, but Gillette couldn't help it. He was mesmerized by a droplet of perspiration that wound its way down Norrington's face, down his neck and into his shirt. His breath quickened a little and he gave a little cough. Norrington twitched his head and Gillette knew his cover was blown. "Sir, Doctor Winchcombe requests your presence at the clinic. He mentioned that he wanted to question you about the pirate you sent to him. He's very curious about her." When Norrington did not respond, Gillette placed a tentative hand on his commander's shoulder to get his attention.   
  
"Do you not have a girl here, Richard?" inquired James softly, his head tilted upwards and his eyes searching the lieutenant's face. He had never thought to ask him about his personal life in previous conversations, but Norrington just had to know.   
  
Gillette shook his head. "No girl, sir."  
  
Norrington nodded, "of course. Devoted to your duty as I am." He turned his head for one last look at the sunset before standing.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"We're both bachelors. Eternal bachelors."  
  
"Not you." Gillette hesitated for a moment. "I mean no disrespect at all, James."  
  
"None taken," Norrington stretched himself to his full height.   
  
"Good."  
  
"You look like you want to say something. What is it, Richard?"  
  
Gillette wrung his hands behind his back and took a deep breath. "I do. Um, I need to get this off my mind, if it's ok with you."  
  
James nodded, "fire away."  
  
"Permission to speak freely?"  
  
"Don't be daft. We're friends, just say it. It is about me I presume?"   
  
Gillette nodded. "Yes. Now, I-"  
  
"Hold a moment, should I take this with a pinch of salt?"  
  
Richard frowned, "take it however you like. I think it's rather serious."  
  
"Very well."   
  
"All right," the Lieutenant searched for the words, "you're a fine and handsome man, James. You have a wonderful, honest character and the heart of a good man. There is no woman, or man, anywhere who wouldn't desire you." Gillette smiled, that didn't sound too bad.   
  
"That's kind of you to say."  
  
"It has nothing to do with my kindness. You just don't wish to see these things." The younger man gave a sigh and shrugged his shoulders, "I know that you regret the loss of Miss Swann. Personally, I do not!" He made a small snarling sound, "she used you, James. She used you, sir! She twisted the knife in your heart just to get that bloody blacksmith back and set a dangerous man free. She agreed to marry you!" he tapped his finger on Norrington's chest, "I heard it, you heard it, and even that damnable Jack Sparrow heard it. But what did she do?" He paused, "what did she do? As soon as William was back on dry land and safe she broke her oath. She embarrassed you in front of the marines and the rest of Port Royale's upper class. What she did was utterly wrong and shouldn't have been done."  
  
The Commodore raised his eyes to the sky for a moment before returning an impassive gaze back to his subordinate. "Will that be all of it, Mr. Gillette?" He couldn't keep the slight tremor out of his voice. He knew this conversation was going to end badly.   
  
"No! It's not all. What did you do? You let her go; you let her bind herself to some other man. Not everyone could have set their love free to fly and watch it perch on someone else's branch. What you did was more than she deserved. While she flounces about in joy, you lock yourself away at home and play your violin for hours on end. It's not fair on you, James. I worry, I watch and it hurts me to see you like this."  
  
James rubbed the bridge of his nose, "what can I do? How can I please my Lieutenant?"  
  
The sarcasm was not lost on Gillette. "You go from day to day like a ghost among the living!" He gritted and bared his teeth, "you push those of us who care about you away. You drag everyone into that grave you've already dug for yourself!"  
  
James turned away and Gillette pulled him back so that they were face to face, "please stop this. There are other women out there, James! Men if you prefer," curse his lack of tact! "But for the love of God, don't do this to me! To us!" His blue eyes shone brightly with emotion. "Please, trust me? Don't lock me out like everyone else."  
  
"So you come all this way to tell me that I should brace myself to love again?"  
  
"Let me say that-"  
  
"Look, it's too soon, Richard." Norrington noticed Gillette's frustrated stare.  
  
"You have to learn to trust in order to love again. Becoming a recluse won't help you in the long run, James. I've seen people come and go, don't do this to yourself."   
  
Norrington was at a loss what to do, "why? Why is this so important to you?"  
  
Richard took a deep breath and grasped his friend's shoulder, the thrill in his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. It was now or never, "because I lo-"   
  
"COMMODORE, SIR!" Came a loud cry from the bottom of the steps. The shout left Gillette leaning forward, his mouth hung open in the midst of pronouncing the last forbidden syllable. It was Mullroy. (Gillette considered murder.) "Doctor requests you see him immediately, Commodore sir."  
  
James rolled his eyes, "yes, Mr. Mullroy, so I have been informed. I shall be along shortly." Norrington turned his attention back to Gillette. "You were about to say?"  
  
Gillette wanted more than anything to finish his sentence, but he knew that his window of opportunity had been missed. It was all the fault of the fat marine waiting at the bottom of the steps. He tried to cover the best way he could, "because I lose a valuable friend if this continues."   
  
Norrington gave a nod and forced a smile to his lieutenant and turned away. He followed behind Mullroy, his posture stiffer and more rigid than before. The two quickly faded from view.   
  
Left standing to stare at the remnants of the sunset, Richard Gillette tossed a stone over the edge of the wall and wondered if he should do the same with himself.


	10. Revelations

****

Chapter 10: Revelations

Norrington respectfully removed his hat and gave a small nod to Doctor Winchcombe as he entered his office. Winchcombe was seated comfortably at his desk and gestured for the Commodore to sit at the provided chair. Norrington obliged somewhat stiffly and sat rigidly within the confines of the padded seat. 

"What is this about, Doctor?"

The Doctor gave a smile and let out a little laugh. "You send me some poor woman on the brink of death and you wonder why I call you. I thought those captains taught you some brains!"

"They did," replied James grimly. 

"Then use that head of yours, boy. I called you about the girl!" 

James gave a confused stare, he hardly knew the woman and she him. They had no business with each other save he being executioner and she prisoner. "What do I have to do with that pirate?"

"Nothing I would hope, but I was curious to see if you knew anything about her." Winchcombe looked slyly over the tips of his steepled fingers, "did she speak to you at all?"

"She pleaded for her life, if that's what you are implying, sir."

Winchcombe shook his head, "no, no, that's not what I was looking for."

Raising an eyebrow, James folded his hands in his lap and sincerely wondered why he had bothered getting out of bed that day. First this pirate collapses so she can't be hanged, Gillette had tried to tell him something very important but couldn't and now his physician was asking about her past! What he wouldn't give to restart his day. "Then I'm afraid I can't help you."

"The reason I ask, Commodore, is because I need to know how much care I can give her. You're going to hang her – is it right for me to nurse her back to health?"

Norrington sighed and pursed his lips. "Just make sure she can stand."

Winchcombe gave a sniff of disapproval, "and why was she on the gallows?"

"Because she broke the law," came the Commodore's quiet response. 

The Doctor rolled his eyes and leaned forward, "I'm not slow, James. What did she do? Am I dealing with someone dangerous?"

James felt like knocking his head against a wall. "Always I indulge others. No one indulges me."

"For old times' sake?" Winchcombe batted his eyes and gave a girlish smile. 

Norrington ignored the face, "you must have gotten word of the ships that sailed in the other day?"

The Doctor nodded.

"Good, that makes things easier. From my point on the _Dauntless, _her ship was taking heavy cannon fire from three others. By the time we got sailed out there it was too late and her enemies had already sailed off." Norrington paused and looked out the window. When he looked back, the Doctor had stood and was moving several books from his desk into a nearby shelf. "Her ship sunk and we picked her up when we reached her. The marines brought her on deck and she gave me her letter of marque."

Winchcombe turned and leaned on his desk. Idly, he drummed his fingers as he thought. "So she was a privateer." His face became confused, " but that doesn't explain why you locked her up."

Norrington nodded and resumed his tale, "Earlier that week, I had received a later giving me specific orders 'to detain and hang one Andraste Rose for treason.' It gave the explanation that she had attacked several British merchant ships. Needless to say, she was quite surprised."

"So you told her?"

"Of course I did."

"And what did she say?" The Doctor's mind was placing together pieces of a very intricate puzzle. 

"Naturally she claimed she was innocent." Norrington smiled, " but it's very hard to prove that when you have eye witnesses "

"Aha!" grinned Winchcombe, "wouldn't she have them too?"

"Eyewitnesses? Why I'm sure she does, but they're not here to testify, are they?" He paused as the Doctor's face dropped. He replied quietly, "I don't have to remind you that this is not a court system, do I? She has been found guilty and must hang."

The physician went back to placing his books in empty slots. He gave a comment over one shoulder, "you sound like you don't believe that."

The Commodore gave a frustrated groan before his cool demeanor settled in. "Why am I always second guessed? Does this amuse you?" 

Winchcombe gave a halfhearted shrug and didn't bother to turn around. His hands stroked several especially old tomes of medical lore, "just an idle observation. I'm an old man, James. Indulge me."

James rubbed his face, glad that no one was there to see him. He didn't like being put on the spot. "It doesn't matter what I believe. I have to do my job."

"But what if she's innocent?" came the barely audible reply. 

"We have no way to prove that." Norrington started to rub the bridge of his nose. This gave him a dreadful headache. 

The Doctor twisted around violently, an excited gleam in his eyes, "why don't you try?"

"How?"

"Talk to her," replied Winchcombe as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

James gave a disbelieving laugh, "what would be the use?"

"Ascertain more information! Use your head, man! Besides," Winchcombe gave a sidelong glance to James, "you should see how she cleans up. Providing you don't rip each other to pieces, I think you two might get along quite well."

"Doctor, you haven't even spoken with the woman. For all we know, she could have the intelligence of a…of a tea cup."  
  
"You can get good conversation from inanimate objects, James. Much more than with one of Royale's well bred ladies. Dull creatures they are."   
  
"Incredibly. They're so suffocating, they sap the vitality straight from your bones!"  
  
"Yes, evil lot are those pampered pedigrees. Still, you do what duty calls you to do," the elder man stroked a particularly old book fondly. Slowly his gaze met the Commodore's, "I must insist that you do come see her, if for nothing more than to get you out of your office. You spend all day in there and this might be a good distraction. You can decide what to do once you've spoken with her."

"I do not see the point," said James darkly, "but I shall follow where you lead, oh my captain. Now please, I do have some papers to attend to, if we could make this quick."  


"Commodore," replied Winchcombe in the same tone, "playing with someone's life isn't something you can do quickly."  


James did not respond but instead stood and waited to be led into the patient's room.   


**

Sister Constance was gently sponging her ward's forehead with cool water when a knock upon the door startled her. She inadvertently dropped the sponge onto the face of her charge, and it landed with a _schlop_, its tiny rivets of water slipping down onto the captain's shirt. Had she have been awake, she would have angrily wiped the droplets away; small, light touches irritated her.

The nun moved to the door and opened it, respectfully nodding to both gentlemen as they entered but glowering at them once their backs were turned. This was _her _charge. It was terribly rude for a man to dress and tend to wounds on such a lascivious part of the body! Best let a woman do it and temptation could be removed. The Doctor? She knew she could trust him but this young Commodore. No, he could not stay there. 

The nun gave a small cough of disapproval. "What about 'im?" 

The Doctor turned and raised his eyebrows. "The Commodore?" He was quite surprised that the Sister would raise such a fuss. 

"Yes," replied the nun.

Norrington strode to the window. At least the nun had a sense of propriety about her job.

"He's with me," assured Winchcombe. "We shall be fine, Sister. Thank you for your concern." 

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'm here against my will," commented James. 

The nun gave a little chirp of displeasure and reluctantly left the small room. She left a small crack in the door where she might study the activity from a far. 

Winchcombe gave a small chuckle and checked the door, "don't mind Sister Constance, James. She's very serious about privacy and etiquette."

"The woman does her job well," remarked Norrington as he looked upon the occupant of the bed. He felt some measure of pity for the pale woman. And regret. He felt regret and guilt quite keenly as if someone were cutting him with a knife. His strings were being pulled in all the wrong directions! The rules were supposed to be easy but now there was doubt. How could they make a lie sound so convincing? 

The doctor took his nurse's former position on the corner of the bed and grabbed a wash towel from the nearby water basin. He stroked a few wisps of hair away before applying the cool cloth. "I have seen many cases," said he whilst gently wiping the captain's brow, "where a patient's fevered state has opened up, to be what I presume, memories. When questioned, said patients often admit to having a fitful dream. Frightening no doubt, don't you think?"

Casually, Norrington hummed his approval, anything to shake off the Doctor and his questions. He settled for facing the window and mentally ticking off the possible actions he could take regarding his newest problem. Captain Rose was a pirate by Port Royale's definition and pirates had to be hung. No questions asked. She would have to go back to the gallows once she was healed and be sentenced again. Now James thought himself a reasonable man and could not for the life of him understand why, if only to die, Miss Rose was to be brought back to full health. He also couldn't very well let her go. The matter needed serious thought.

"By my estimation," continued the doctor, noticing the far away look in the Commodore's eyes, "she should be up and about within a week or two. I suspect that you will have her fate decided by then, sir?" 

James blinked and stared hard at Doctor Winchcombe. "I shall, doctor. Whether she is hanged, shot, or imprisoned will be decided in the morning. But I for one hope that she dies in that fever." 

Andraste's eyes flickered open for a moment, looked at the Commodore and then closed again. All of this happened too quickly for the Commodore to see, but the ever-vigilant watch of Winchcombe did not miss a thing. Perhaps James would be a factor in her recovery? He did not know. 

"Mercy, sir?" The doctor teased, a small but sure smile settled on his lips as he stroked his patient's forehead. 

"I don't know," the Commodore gave pause for a moment, something in his brain sparking. "I wonder if she bears relation to Charles Rose?"

"Who's he?" asked the Doctor. 

James cocked his head to the side, "a naval officer. He retired several years ago, to this area I believe."

Winchcombe gave a small start. "Oh him! Yes, yes! The physician on his ship married my sister. How do you know the good Captain Rose?"

Andraste gave a small murmur. The Doctor patted her arm. 

"I served under him as a midshipman and a Lieutenant before I was transferred to the Caribbean. Good man. Have you met him?" 

"Once before," replied the Doctor fondly. He always liked meeting new people. He gave an absent smile as his mind drifted back eighteen years, "it was at a dinner. He brought along his wife and daughter. Was with his own parents too. Lovely people, those Roses." 

Norrington's head shot up. 

Winchcombe saw this and gave a comforting smile, "it's only a presumption and my aged mind. Don't work yourself into a fit yet." 

Norrington's posture stiffened and he sniffed menacingly. He should not have left home today. With a last glance at the doctor and his charge, he turned his back on them and walked through the door and into the main ward of Port Royale's infirmary. He would have to check ship registrations and ask around for all the information he could find about the Roses. 

Doctor Winchcombe only sighed and shook his head. He knew that ever since Elizabeth Swann had chosen Will Turner over James, James had thrown himself head first into his work. For the past year he had worked relentlessly to destroy all remnants of piracy, taking no breaks and seeing no one but his first Lieutenant, and Elizabeth when he was trying to court her. Winchcombe could guess many things about Gillette by the way he often stared after his friend, but the doctor also knew that Norrington wasn't that sort of man. 

The Commodore's weakness, the doctor concluded, was that he had no solid woman to stand behind him. He had no anchor in Port Royale but his job, his family was left in England and he had no wife and children. Once settled, Winchcombe could easily imagine James being a little less stiff and stodgy. He might even make a joke or two or crack a smile in public. Until then, he would drive himself into the ground with work and end up in the hospital ward under Winchcombe's doting care. 

Then Winchcombe would teach him the benefits of healthy living. And by the Lord, what a lesson he would drill into James!


	11. Beyond the Wig

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Thank you to Erin and Jen for such faithful reviews. You guys really encourage the writing process. I love bouncing ideas off of you and I greatly appreciate your feedback. Every little bit helps and I don't know how this story would be written without you. Merci, gracias danke, thank you – you get the picture! **  
  
Chapter 11: Beyond the Wig  
**

The next morning found Norrington awake bright and early; sitting in his parlor reading through the reports that Gillette had given him the day before. Though while his eyes moved across the words, he did not see them as his mind was wandering elsewhere. The night before, he had scavenged all the papers he could about registered privateers, merchant logs and retired seaman of the area. The name 'Rose' had come up several times, but he was not assured that one Rose was the right Rose until he had cross referenced a group of coffee shipments from Falmouth to England with the local area of the former naval officer. It was then that his heart stopped and he threw the papers into his desk as opposed to the wall. Life had become terribly complicated.   
  
So here he was, supposedly studying the records of a stolen ship, but in reality dreaming of his past. He was taken back to his childhood, where in England he had signed onto the HMS _Inquisitor _and earned his reputation as a fine seaman. 

He remembered the day he arrived at the docks, when he had clung to his mother and asked her not to leave him behind. She had simply smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek, assuring him that she would be there for him when he returned home. Young James had felt abandoned then and the feeling had only gotten worse when he made it to his lessons. None of the boys really knew one another, and those that were acquainted readily grouped together. But there was an uneven number of aspiring midshipmen, and it was easy to guess who was without a companion. 

James had spent those first few years observing his classmates, studying their actions and determining their characters. This time had laid the groundwork for the man he had become: a great judge of character but also detached, in a way, from those around him. He threw himself into Shakespeare and other such literary works to dull the pain of his loneliness, and he began to show his inner feelings less and less. By the tender age of sixteen, James had already perfected the mask with which he dealt criminals and disobedient officers. 

He had been assigned to a ship called the HMS _Inquisitor_, under the command of Captain Robert Delmar Rose. Rose was a man who led by courage and courtesy, he respected his men and they too would respect him. He was just and fair with his crew, and tried to show no favoritism to his officers. However, Captain Rose was as tight about running his ship as humanly possible. Officers were to be treated with the utmost respect, there was to be no fighting among the crew and the midshipmen were to be prompt and groomed at any calling. He was not a cruel man by any standards, but once his faith in a man had been lost, it was gone forever. 

Because of his top marks in schooling and his professional attitude, James had been recommended by his captain to sit the Lieutenant's test at eighteen. Now he was not without enemies, in fact James had acquired many of them during his time aboard the ship. But in his excitement, he could not see the danger of his situation. Whilst he was pouring his soul into a long, heart felt letter to his mother, a particularly nasty bunkmate of his grew ever more jealous of his good fortune. The boy's name was Saul, and he had the ear of the 1st lieutenant, Mr. Bryant. 

Saul came from a family of actors, so he knew how to play his parts perfectly well. Along with another mate, Thomas, he set a plan in motion that would eventually cause Norrington's test to be denied. What had Norrington done? He'd beaten them. Why? Because Saul and Thomas had cornered him on the midshipman's deck and harassed him. They called his mother a whore, his sisters tramps, his father a drunken gambler, all the things that they knew would drive him over the edge. It did, but they didn't know just how far over the edge James could go. The repressed feelings that he had buried surfaced in one scarlet haze and everything just floated out of his control. 

He had awoken the next morning bruised and battered, fully remembering that he had attacked two fellow midshipmen. It had been a brutal assault; a part of James that he never knew existed had been released. That night he had been a caged animal and backed into a dark corner from which the only escape was to fight and to survive. So he did, he lashed out with all his strength and fought as hard as he could. His rational mind was locked behind four red walls, and so he watched the brawl in hues of red and rage. 

Specific details of the fight were blurry in his mind, but he knew that he had caused serious harm to his fellow mates. He had gouged the eyes of one but the other had scampered away with a fracture or two, nothing so severe as the blood trickling off the brunette's blackened orbs. James though, only suffered a few bruises, walking away virtually unscathed. That did not mean to say that he expected the same to happen when it came to his formal reprimand. He'd be kissing the gunner's daughter before long, or so he believed. 

Either way, he didn't have to wait too long for punishment, because he was soon summoned to the Captain's cabin. 

Captain Rose and Lieutenant Bryant were both awaiting him. He had never seen Bryant look so angry, but Rose was incredibly calm and less animated then he was at other punishments. The two officers stood behind a large oaken desk, Bryant held a letter in one hand and stroked stick of a lit candle with another. 

"You know why you are here?" asked the Captain solemnly. His deep voice was laced with undertones. 

James nodded his head and looked to the floor respectfully.

Before the Captain could continue, Bryant jumped straight into the fray, "I hope you realize what you've done! We've lost two midshipmen thanks to your temper! Saul may never see again because of you!" 

"Mr. Bryant!" chided Rose, "that is quite enough. His punishment is under my jurisdiction. I shall thank you not to interrupt again." 

Bryant leveled a glare so hateful on James that had it of been able to kill, there would be no more left of the young man. The same could have been said of Bryant, if the midshipman's thoughts ever became true. 

"I am very disappointed in you, James. Very," the Captain remarked. "You have such a bright future ahead of you and what do you do? You throw it away as if it is nothing. I expected you to be of a tougher mettle, too prudent to fall to the trap that Saul and Thomas set for you. I was wrong, obviously." 

Norrington held back a sigh; they were going to send him home. What would his mother think? She had been so proud of when he was assigned to the _Inquisitor_, but now she'd think him a horrible, unworthy son. Of all the rejections he had faced, hers would be the most painful.

"So what do I do with you, young Mr. Norrington? By all accounts I should send you home when we reach port, you should never be able to set foot on a ship again." Rose flicked his hand palm up towards his lieutenant, its gold brocade trim shimmering in the candle's light. Bryant placed the letter he was holding onto the black silk and the Captain snatched it away. "I have considered this all night, dear boy. I tossed and I turned deciding if I should mark this down and use it against you to run you out of a career. I also wondered if I should let the whole matter slip. But no. That will not do.

"A captain is like God on his ship, and like God he is omnipresent. I should be all seeing, all knowing of every detail. So to say that I had no knowledge on your fight with Saul and Thomas would be a lie to myself and to my superiors," the Captain smiled, "but then who is to say that those two have not rightfully deserved what came to them? They did, after all, use language that is quite unbecoming of future officers and for that I can hold them just as guilty as I do you. Alas that you are not the one in the infirmary, how I would have liked to have seen those boys wail!"

Bryant stiffened, but the other man only laughed. He shook his fair head a few times, smiling all the while, before he composed himself again. "James, I do like you. Truly, I think you are one of the most competent men that have served under me in all my years at sea. But as I said, alas that you were not the one to be found injured. I can not, in good conscience, allow you to walk away from this encounter without certain punishment. Therefore," he paused, "I have decided that I must revoke your nomination for the Lieutenant's test. You may try again in a year or two, when this mess has quieted down or never again at all. It is up to you. Yet this incident shall not leave the ship. There will be no reports from me, or my lieutenants about your scuffle. I want you to have a fantastic career in the navy without the shadowing doubts of your past. I only hope you can use this new opportunity wisely."

James nodded his head, "I shall."

Captain Rose smiled, "and you shall participate in no other fights? Aboard my ship and elsewhere?"

"No other fights, sir." Norrington responded. He paused a moment, hesitating what to say next. "Errr…I thank you for giving me an opportunity…to redeem myself."   
  
"I would only hope," said the Captain, "that you would do the same for one of my own."   
  
Norrington's chest bristled with pride. "I would, sir."  
  
The Captain nodded, "you may go."

Bryant turned his head in disgust as James left. 

As far as memories went, that was all he wanted to remember. In that long ago time, Norrington hadn't been as preoccupied with the rules as he was now. After that incident though, he meticulously picked his path through life, following the rules and avoiding those who might provoke him other wise. When he gained sufficient rank, climbing up to lieutenant and then to captain, he was allowed the luxury of choosing what battles he wished to fight. Once had reached a steady position, then he had started to put his foot down and show his true prowess at command. He didn't know whether his days were better because of this punishment or if they had become even worse. But what he did know was that he had skimmed the reports twenty times and not a word had stuck. 

Accepting that today was not the day for reviewing Gillette's documents, he placed the papers back on the table. The Commodore knew that he would never read them in his current state. Slowly he stretched his legs and leant back. He vigorously scrubbed his face with his palms to arouse his sense; he had a busy day of report writing and fort repairs. He could not afford to let the past drag him down.


	12. Blue Eyes

****

Section 12: Blue Eyes

The past two weeks had started to take its toll on the weary Commodore. Between repairs and complaints, Doctor Winchcombe requested his presence for two hours everyday. Not for personal company but so that Norrington could spend time with his prisoner. It was not a task that he relished as the woman was out cold for most of the day and so he spent his time talking aloud to no one or bringing his violin to practice. Such were the simple things he could do in a place where no one could find him. On days where documents were heavy he brought one or two of the longer parchments and set to work at the small table in the corner. The break from the daily humdrum was refreshing. 

On this particular day, Norrington had decided to bring a gift. After spending a great deal of his time with the unconscious, delirious woman, he had seen for himself her gradual recovery. She had stopped sweating and mumbling in her sleep and she was keeping water and broth in her system. Her improvements pleased the doctor greatly. But today…today he had a feeling. Something was going to happen, so James had thought it appropriate to bring a present in the case that his intuition was correct. Perhaps would be the day she would awaken. She was no story book princess, so he wouldn't count on fate but his gut instinct had never failed him before. The worst case scenario was that he was justifying his time around her. After all, he still hadn't decided her fate. 

Seating himself in a comfortable chair by the bed, James sighed and opened the book he had brought along, the present he planned to give. He still found it funny that any pirate would benefit from his presence, but Winchcombe was adamant that she showed signs of improvement when Norrington was near. As he thought more and more about, he realized that he must have been the proverbial flower to the bee, he attracted pirates right left and center. Jack Sparrow never left him alone and seemed to prosper daily. Or at least that's what merchant rumors had told him. There was no telling what that man could do. He was a menace on the ocean and on society. Woe be Jack Sparrow if Gillette ever caught him. 

Trying to set this from his mind, he settled comfortably into the soft, cushioned oaken chair and thumbed through the book until he found an interesting chapter. He read for an hour, reciting the rules both out of memory and from the bindings. He stopped at one particularly entry, one that he found _very_ amusing. "Section number 2; Subset 6a: Piracy is a crime unto and under God. All those involved in such practice of illegal manner, who do not carry letters of marque nor fly under colors of King and Country are subject there to and not excluding death, torture, public flogging, imprisonment, removal of hands at the wrist…"

"My, my. You have a lovely voice, Commodore, but must you be so macabre?" 

Norrington started at the sound and looked over the edge of the book to find two very blue eyes peering curiously at him. He noted the amused glint. "You're awake."

The eyes blinked and he could see the thin blonde eyebrows raise, "very astute." Upon inspection, she was lying on her side with her arms folded beneath a pillow, her head resting heavily upon it. While they were quick and attentive, her blue eyes were dull and their lids were half closed. Some stray strands of hair fell down over her eyes and some stuck to her dry lips, making the captain look warm and sleep ridden, even though she was alert and in full control of her faculties. 

"How long have you…"

"Been conscious?" A smile formed on the parched lips, "a little before you arrived, but I knew you wouldn't read to me unless I appeared to be comatose." Andraste let out a small, hoarse laugh and wetted her lips with her tongue.

"Is that so?" replied James. "Well, now that you're all better I suppose that I can fetch the doctor and have him tend to you now. Then I can get back to more important matters, like trying to find a means to dispose of you."

Frowning, Andraste raised her head off the pillow. "Perhaps you could open to subset 5a point 36 and read to me the first three lines." She watched attentively as the Commodore, her executioner or savior, flipped through the pages of the heavy brown book resting on his lap. 

James was entertained by the notion that the pirate might know something more about Port Royale than he did. Finding the correct passage he read it silently, skimming the words and picking out appropriate phrases. Indeed, it was definitely a loophole, but it did not apply in this case. Still, it was surprising. 

He could almost see the smirk through the book's cover as he heard the Rose's voice; "I'll set sail from here as soon as I'm better." 

"Indeed you would, _if _the situation applied to you. Privately owned ships, flags and registered ports have nothing to do with your imprisonment. I thought you understood that your letter of marque was now null and void."

"Oh yes," she sighed, eyes dimming, "I forgot about that. Rotten luck."

Closing the book, Norrington, placed it on the bedside table. "This was a gift." 

Andraste must have read something in his tone because her brow furrowed and she frowned at him. "I have to know passages like that, Commodore or else I'd be dead by now." It was only one obscure passage, he didn't have to speak to her like that! 

A small silence passed before Andraste laid down her head again and fixed her gaze upon the officer, "in all truth, I really did enjoy your reading. You were a great help through my fever. I could hear a voice; someone anchoring me as I weathered out the storm as it were. I know that it was you, and I must thank you. I've never been fond of nightmares." 

Uncomfortable with the praise, James shrugged his soldiers, "the doctor said I should come and spend time with you, considering I was partially responsible for your situation." He felt it again, that gnawing guilt. 

Nodding her head in approval, Andraste reached an arm forward and placed her hand gently on the Commodore's knee. James stared at her hand and then at her face. Andraste only smiled and gave his knee a squeeze before it slipped back to its original place. "I heartily appreciate the sentiment of your gift. That little blurb you read is all I know of Port Royale's rules." When she received no answer from Norrington, she started again, "the _Artemis_ does not often travel near Port Royale's way. We usually gather supplies from Falmouth or Nassau. I can easily give you excerpts from their rulebooks. Never had to use them, mind you, but it's always best to be prepared." She gave him a fleeting smile. 

Rubbing the edge of his cuff between a long fore finger and thumb, he gave a small tic of disapproval. "No, I'm quite well aware of the rules of the surrounding ports, Miss Rose." 

Andraste leaned her head on one shoulder and raised her eyes to the ceiling above. It was a position that assumed totally innocence of the speaker, but did not belie the intention to say or act in some fiendish manner. "Strange how Port Royale used to be a pirate haven."

The Commodore fixed a glare on the privateer, though from her angle she was unable to see it. "What are you implying?"

"Commodore!" came the mock hurt response; "I'm so _anguished_ that you think I might be implying anything." Andraste's laugh was cut short by a wince as she displaced the position of her injured leg. It took a moment for her to recover. "What I meant to say, was that you've done an excellent job in reforming the place. You can't catch everyone granted, but I commend you."   
  
James gave another shrug and took a glance out the window. "We do our best to lessen the danger of travelling the sea. But to clarify, I was not a part of Royale's reformation. I wasn't even born, let alone in the Caribbean."  
  
"Very true, but you maintain that order. Is not the 'now' more important than the 'then'?" 

"A wise saying, Miss Rose, but what about the future?"

The Captain gave a halfhearted smile, "the future? It doesn't really matter in my case, does it?" Her words were said in a type of gaiety, but her eyes told a very different story. She was fearful of what was to come. 

"So your past _does _matter then. If you hadn't gone against your word and attacked that ship, then you might not be in this predicament?"

Frowning, Andraste shook her head and slowly adjusted herself on the pillows, "ancient history, Commodore, that's what I refer to. As to going against my word, well, once I give it I never break it."

Norrington hardly doubted her claim but she was still considered a felon under his law. "You-" 

Andraste put up a hand, "no..."

"The-"

"No."

"Admir-"  
  
"No."

"Were-"

"No." 

"Given-"

"No."

James paused for a moment and then released his words rapid fire, "the reports from the-"

"No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No!"

"Will you let me-"  
  
"No."  
  
He gave a frustrated sigh, "I could have been trying to set you free." Remarkably, he wasn't interrupted.   
  
"But you weren't and that's the difference, my dear Commodore."  
  
James gritted his teeth and sat back in his chair, waiting for the next bell to allow him a release from the stubborn woman's presence. "You assume quite a bit."  
  
"I'm very good at reading others, I can assume all I damn well like," came the woman's curt reply.  
  
"That's a bit rude."  
  
"No more rude than accusing someone guilty of a crime they never committed? Hah. What a proper society you live in!"   
  
"There are witnesses-"

"And I have forty witnesses of my own who -"  
  
Aha! James could learn something of her crew. "- skulked away at the first sign of danger."  
  
The Rose gave a sniff of indignation, "hardly skulked."  
  
"Oh? Then what did they do? What plans have they made without their Captain to guide them?"  
  
"Currently? Well they're walking across land, braving the jungle to get to the other side of the island where my fleet of Amazons is waiting. Then they're going to sail all the way back and blow your tiny port all the way to Gibraltar."   
  
Somehow, Norrington expected no less a wit from the child of Robert Rose. "You're getting very good at telling those lies, Miss Rose. Now really, inform me of their whereabouts?"  
  
"They're seamen, they sail."  
  
"So they're…?"  
  
"On the ocean. I thought you could put two and together, obviously I was wrong."   
  
"How could they be on the sea? Your ship is destroyed."  
  
"If they begrudge the loss of the _Artemis_, then they probably stole one of your ships, Commodore. It's only fitting in pirate custom. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth…"  
  
"A ship for a ship."  
  
Andraste smiled, "so you are catching on! I must have midjudged you as you have done me. Yes, a ship for a ship."   
  
In the distance, a bell rang.   
  
Norrington stood, his time with the patient over.   
  
Andraste noted this, "am I to expect you again for conversation tomorrow?" Idly she plucked some lint from her blanket, tossing it to the ground when it came free.   
  
"It would seem so. Doctor Winchcombe is quite insistent that I take better care of my prisoners. This is his lesson to me."  
  
"And a fine lesson it is," commented Winchcombe dryly from the doorway. His brown eyes were visibly twinkling with mirth.   
  
Norrington nodded to Andraste, "good day, Miss Rose."  
  
The Captain gave a smile and waved her hand in dismissal. Her old habits would die hard. "Farewell, Commodore."   
  
Norrington turned his back and strode to the Doctor. He found that hand wave remarkablyirritating. 


	13. A Second Chance

**** __

Sorry to be so long in coming with this chapter, would you believe its been written since the start of December? Between moving house, Les Mis auditions (and now rehearsals), Alice in Wonderland Rehearsals and also Sub.Way.Tithe Rehearsals, I've been stretched thin for time.   
  
No Andraste in this chapter, though she does get mentioned by word of mouth. She'll be back in all her snippy glory by chapter 14. Here we see our two favorite naval officers trying to reconcile themselves. Thank you for all the support and encouragement thus far. I shall try not to let you down. :)  
  
  
**Chapter 13: A Second Chance**

"And she honestly claims she's innocent!" Gillette threw his head back and let out a laugh. He had dropped by James's house that evening to deliver some reports and had been invited to stay. They had discussed many amusing things over the course of an hour, but now there was nothing more hilarious to the Lieutenant then boring ladies and traitors who 'were framed.'  
  
"She does, she totally believes her claim. Says she has forty other witnesses, but where are they, Richard?"  
  
"They," he spluttered, wiping tears from his eyes, "they've gone and left her! To get Amazons!" Richard had never laughed so hard in his life.   
  
Norrington joined in on the outburst; after all, the entire situation was so absurd that it just could not fail to be humorous.   
  
Gillette's pounding of the table shook the crystal glasses so violently they spilt droplets of their contents, a fine brandy. Norrington didn't care though and joined in the raucous display, knocking an empty decanter over. The two men were thoroughly enjoying themselves on this warm evening. The doors of the parlor were open and a cool breeze billowed the curtains into ghost like forms. It was a perfect night.   
  
"Oh my, James," said Gillette quieting down, "that is just too funny."  
  
"Oh I know. At first I was angry but now this is just too much resist. You always know how to lighten things like that up."  
  
"If I didn't, you'd be as sour as those mangoes sitting outside to ripen," Gillette gave a small grin over his glass of brandy. Duty be damned, Gillette knew that Lieutenants Pearce and Groves could manage the fort for one evening. They needed the practice.   
  
"Yes, I suppose you're right. I'm turning into a sour, old man, Richard!" James gave a small chuckle.   
  
"Hardly."  
  
"Though I think I've changed. For the better, that is, or maybe it's for the worse? I don't know. Is a little extra caution wrong?" Norrington placed his chin in his palm and gazed thoughtfully at his friend. "I don't want to make any more mistakes of morality."  
  
"She's a pirate, base and coarse. Do you need to look into it any further?"  
  
James frowned, "She doesn't speak like a pirate. She doesn't act like one either."  
  
It was Richard's turn to look thoughtful. "There's something you're not telling me."  
  
"They way you read my moods is uncanny, Lieutenant."   
  
"I learned to understand the moods of my superiors, when to avoid conflicts and when it might be best to push forth. So tell me, because I'll learn it from you anyway."   
  
"Well," James gave a sigh; "there are – other - reasons."  
  
"Other reasons?" Gillette tilted his head and bared his teeth, "is she carrying your child? A long lost relative perhaps? Are you falling in love? Does she have the knowledge of a secret location to a rebel base of pirates? Please. We all know our callings."  
  
"It's not that easy, Richard. I have an," James searched for the word, "let's just say that I hate being in someone's debt."  
  
"As do I, sir! But you're also obligated to follow the laws of your, no our, King."   
  
"To punish the guilty? Yes, yes. I'm aware of that."   
  
Gillette paused and then suddenly it came to him, "you think she's innocent!"  
  
Norrington gave Gillette a harsh stare; "I _never _said that! As I said, I just want to be sure this time."  
  
"What is there to be sure about? There is no evidence in her favor. Clearly she must be lying, and if she's not then someone will come calling for her! Really, you shouldn't let this get to you." The Lieutenant added as an after thought, "I can already see new wrinkles forming on you."  
  
"I do not have wrinkles."  
  
"Those creases are definitely not from laughing."   
  
"Please, Richard. You're starting to sound an awful lot like my mother. Especially recently."   
  
"I think that Jack Sparrow may have made a deep impression on you. Something to be wary about."  
  
"More appropriately Miss Swann."  
  
Richard gave a sneer, "what has that harlot done now?"  
  
"GILLETTE!"  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, but then muttered too low for James to hear, "but she is."  
  
"Please don't speak of her like that. I still regard her quite highly."  
  
"You know where I stand, sir. No more comments from me. Though what she didn't see - "  
  
"Am I unable to love? That's what pushed her away, I think, my exterior."  
  
"Your commanding, reassuring presence?"  
  
"Richard, I - "  
  
"Lost be the battle when you change for a woman!"  
  
"I'm 31 and a low class Admiral. I'm expected to marry."  
  
"Only _you_ expect that. No one would think any less of you if you didn't. Break free from that tradition," Gillette gave a reassuring smile, "not everyone is going to be married by 28."  
  
"So you would forgo society and renounce a woman's amorous attempts to remain single for me."  
  
Inwardly, Gillette sighed at the double meaning. "Yes, I would indeed."  
  
"Then you're a foolish man, my friend. To have loved and lost is bitter, but to never have loved at all? For me that would be unbearable."   
  
"I didn't say that I wouldn't love, I just wouldn't get married. Circumstances would probably prevent the marriage anyway." Yes, Gillette knew the punishments for such open actions.   
  
"And I thought you were implying that I should be the Jack Sparrow of the Royal Navy!" James laughed, "oh you do cheer me up."  
  
"Do you notice how everything returns to him?"  
  
"To Sparrow?" Norrington thought a moment, "Actually, you're right! It does. I find it rather amusing."  
  
The next few moments were spent in silence. The words came to Gillette just as his commander opened his mouth to speak again. "Just remember that your men love you. The Admiralty trusts you." Gillette reached forth his hand and placed it on his friend's forearm, "James, please don't falter now. Not after so much has been gained."   
  
"Oh, I won't falter, don't you worry about that. I just get lonely." James looked around the room to the portraits, the mirror, the cabinets, everything that made his place so inviting. "I come home to an empty house everyday. I don't want that anymore. I want someone around to support me."  
  
"That's not true. You have many friends who support you!"  
  
Norrington took a sip of his brandy, "very few. None outside our profession." He traced the rim of his glass when he was finished, a small note ringing from the swirling of his long fingers.   
  
Gillette gave him a grudging look; "you could always call on me. It's not as if I'm wrapped up in Port Royale's affairs."  
  
"And I do! But," James paused, "you have a life your own. You can't spend your days soothing my troubles and holding my hand when I get upset. I'm a grown man and you'll have to move on."  
  
Richard was rather taken aback by this, "James?"  
  
The Commodore shook his head and closed his eyes. "Sooner or later you'll make a captaincy and then what?"  
  
"I'll have my own ship."  
  
"Yes, in another part of the ocean, where they'll need you the most. You'll go off to new waters, meet new people. Maybe even a girl will strike your fancy and you'll have many plump children running about your estate in England. Your life does not permanently insure your stay in the Caribbean."  
  
"You don't know that for a fact."  
  
"Richard, if I thought that your time here was hindering your career I'd send you elsewhere." Norrington said very quietly, so much so that Gillette strained to hear, "actually, I'm tempted to do it."  
  
Gillette's heart stopped, "you wouldn't."  
  
"I would."   
  
"You need a replacement. I'm it."   
  
"Don't justify yourself to me. I know your strengths and weaknesses."  
  
"Sir, please." Gillette looked crestfallen, "don't send me away."  
  
The Commodore's successfully stifled smile pushed its way into his face. "Had you going there, didn't I?"  
  
"WHAT!"   
  
"Oh yes. You perform admirably well at your duties. I wouldn't trust anyone else to Royale's safe keeping while I'm away. Your position is not in jeopardy, relax."  
  
Richard scowled and drained the last of his glass. "Please do not do that again. Making jokes about my position's stability is upsetting."  
  
"I'm sorry, Richard. Truly I am."  
  
"You better be."  
  
"Resorting to threats now, are we? What sort of punishment should I – no don't give me that look."  
  
"I want to assume your body's been possessed by an evil demon and that's why you seem to enjoy needling me so much."   
  
"What I just want to get across is that you, and I for that matter, won't be around forever."   
  
"Which if you don't mind me saying so," Gillette interrupted before he could go any further, "we should make the most of our time together now."  
  
"Really, Gillette? You never struck me as the pragmatic sort."  
  
Richard shrugged his shoulders and took of his hat and wig. "I'm not. But live in the moment, James! For this one evening, just pretend that there is no duty, that tomorrow you won't have to get up and don that silly wig. Tonight," he grabbed the bottle of brandy and refilled both glasses; "it's just you and me plus this fine bottle of brandy."  
  
"And in the morning?"  
  
"And in the morning you can hate me for all I've made you do."  
  
James smiled softly, "I could never hate you."  
  
"Very well then," Gillette returned the smile and took up his brandy, "shall we drink?"  
  
Norrington lifted his glass in response. "We shall."


End file.
